Unknown Soldier
by Zoop
Summary: NaNoWriMo 2012 Winner! But it ain't done yet! Summary: A lone Uruk survives the encounter with the Fellowship of the Ring at Amon Hen. Stricken with amnesia from a brutal blow to the head, he has no idea where he is, who he is, or WHAT he is. And then he meets a little Rohirrim girl...
1. Wakening

**Wakening**

The world began with the stench of death. And pain. So much pain that it blocked out all sound. On and on it stretched, seemingly forever, as if it had always been and would always be.

He could not open his eyes or move his body for some time. Every twitch hurt. Every thought was clouded, hidden by the fog of agony that held his mind in thrall. He could do nothing but lie where he was.

The pain receded incrementally, slowly releasing his senses from bondage. He heard trees groaning in the wind, their branches rubbing and striking as they swayed. He did not understand what this meant. He felt the hard surface under his body, smelled the rotted leaves crushed by his weight, and did not understand. He tasted blood, _and_ _did not understand_.

The smells, though... so invasive that no amount of pain could drive them from his awareness. Death and blood. Filth and sweat. His eyes began to open.

It took several long minutes for him to grasp his position. Above, the trees he'd heard stood tall. Their naked branches cut across a blue, cloudless sky. He was lying on the ground, then. He attempted to rise.

The world lurched sickeningly and he fell back, gasping. His gorge rose alarmingly, and he rolled to the side in time to empty his stomach. Falling back, he stared up and up. What was this place? Why did he feel so sore and ill? _What happened to him?_

That these questions had no answers alarmed him. Surely he would remember what caused him such pain. He made another attempt to sit up.

It was easier this time. The world tilted, but he held fast against its movement, and it settled. He forced down the vomit that wished to join its fellow; fought it and eventually won. Now he could see what caused the cloying stench that was itself enough to make one retch.

All about him lay bodies. He didn't even try to count them all. Blinking rapidly, trying to take it in, his eyes scanned what appeared to be a battlefield. Was he the only survivor? Were his folk the victors or the dead?

Only two yards away was a corpse, lying face down with arrows in its back. Another a little further away lay on its side, facing him. He stared at the face of the dead... creature, uncomprehending.

It was hideous. A deep cut down one cheek laid the flesh open and a cascade of blackness flowed from the wound. Its face was contorted with anger, pain, and hatred, frozen in death. Something stirred in his mind, looking at that face. It was... familiar. Like wisps, the thoughts flitted through his foggy mind, and somehow he knew this creature did bad things. It caused pain and suffering. It was hated.

Perhaps... it was his enemy. Surely this must be so. He was not one of _these_. He was not dead, as these things were. They must have been slain by the good people. The good people; _they_ must be his folk. The good people must have thought him dead and left. Perhaps they were forced by circumstance to leave him behind. Perhaps they would return...

Yes, he was one of the good people. These others... they were bad people. He was not one of them. He must find the good people again. They would tell him what happened here. They would tell him who he was.

Who... He didn't know who he was.

He had to get up. They would tell him, but he had to get to them first.

Standing required a monumental effort and several failures. The forest danced and the ground convulsed; he dragged himself up and forced his shaky legs beneath him, holding onto a small tree for dear life. All the while, his head felt split open and his stomach threatened to unleash its fury once again.

Now he could see more, and the sight of so many repulsive forms... he could not look at them for long. Bad people. They were _bad people_. He was not one of them. He had to get away from here.

But where could he go? He did not know this place, and had no memory of coming here. When he stilled and listened, he heard something roaring in the distance. A steady roar it was; the sound did not inspire fear, so it must not be threatening. He slowly turned in that direction.

It was a start.

His plodding, uncertain, stumbling footsteps jarred his sensitive head, causing the pain to flare up again. He had to stop frequently and wait for it to subside before continuing on. His eyes refused to open wider than slits, for the light of day pierced so sharply he...

Night was upon him quite suddenly, and he was lying on his back, gasping and sore from head to toe. Again, he rolled over to throw up what little was left in his gut. Hours must have passed. It was a struggle to sit up.

For the first time, he looked down at his body. His chest was covered by a curved metal plate. There were many scratches and dents, and it was a dark grey beneath the dirt and blood. It did not fit him well; he was now aware of the places where it had rubbed his skin raw. His questing fingers found buckles on the sides, and he clumsily worked them open, his hands seeming to know what they were doing without his guidance.

There was more strapped to his body than the chest plate. Metal covered his head. He removed the cap, and stared at the deep dent. He gingerly touched the back of his head, and his fingers found a gummy mass tangled in his hair.

More metal concealed his thighs and shins. Leather girded his loins. The leather he could stand, though it was filthy and smelled terribly. Beneath the metal plating on his torso, he wore a ragged shirt, so dirty from sweat and grime its color was indistinguishable. So torn it barely covered his flesh, and had clearly done little to protect his hide from the metal plating. Open sores at his collarbones and shoulderblades itched and burned.

His skin... dark and rough... gnarled hands ending in claws...

Breath quickening, he forced himself to stand. He was _not one of them_.

The roar resolved itself into a river running wild and boisterous. Near the shore, the water was calmer, and he waded into the shallows to clean himself off. Submerging his body, he ducked his head in as well, then jerked it back out. The cold water stung against the swollen lump where he was struck. Steeling himself, he lowered his blood-encrusted head in the water once more, and washed the gore and filth away.

Once he was clean, his meager clothing soaked and only slightly less dirty, he realized how hungry he was. It was difficult to see in the darkness, but he must somehow find food. Perhaps... meat? Was that what he ate? It was still difficult to think clearly, between the pain and the voice...

He heard a voice. Freezing, he listened. Somewhere far away, someone was murmuring... muttering incoherently. He could make out no words, only... feelings. Sensations that formed images.

Very ugly images of blood and fire.

Starting in a panic, he looked about him. It was day again, and he was in a different place. Still on the bank, but he must be further downriver. He was _walking_ still, as if his body knew where to go and his mind only occasionally woke enough to take notice.

He stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. Several of them, actually. The roaring was louder, and he realized that the river ended abruptly ahead. Cautiously, he approached.

It was a great waterfall, tumbling over the cliff on which he stood to continue on hundreds of feet below, by his reckoning. Since he had chosen this direction, he was loathe to choose another. Who knew where he would end up? Perhaps he was guided by instinct, some deeply-buried knowledge that this was where he needed to go to find his folk. The _good_ people.

The farther he walked, the more distance he would put between himself and the _bad_ people.

Skirting the edge of the cliff, he found a path leading down. The path cut back and forth on its way down, and frequently changed from dirt and bare rock to worn steps and back. Many feet had traveled this way.

Then he found himself squatting in the middle of the path with a dead rabbit in his hands, tearing at its flesh with his teeth. He paused, unable to recall how he'd gotten the animal and unsure where he was. The falls were still near enough to thunder in his ears, and a quick look around told him he was still on the path. He just... didn't remember...

Shaking his head, he resumed eating. He was _starving_. Did it really matter where the rabbit came from?

Hours of walking brought him to the foot of the cliff. Before him a lush grassland stretched, and he wondered where he should go. The sun was lowering in the sky, casting long shadows to his left. He was tired. Perhaps sleep...

Once more, he jerked to awareness lying on the ground, muscles twitching as tension slowly released. His entire body spasmed feebly, slowing to a stop. He could barely swallow as he stared at the darkening sky.

There was no answer to the questions that burned in him to ask. No one to ask them of, either. He took deep breaths to calm himself. As long as he was lying down, he reasoned, he should let himself sleep. Even though he was hungry again.

He wondered what the good people looked like. Obviously, the bad people were ugly and foul-smelling. The good people must be beautiful and smell wonderful. Perhaps they smelled like the grass, so pleasant after the fishy scent of the river. Where the bad people were dark, the good people must be light-skinned. It was good he was one of them, he mused sleepily. Good people did not die.

Morning dawned brightly, and he dragged himself stiffly to his feet. He'd resolved during the night to strike out across the grassland in search of his folk. There must be many of them, to kill so many of the bad people.

As he walked, his brow furrowed. Something was not right. He slowed to a stop and looked around warily. He smelled... something...

The 'something' hit him so suddenly in the back he was propelled several yards to land face down in the grass. As he struggled to rise and pitch the thing off, he felt claws rake across his shoulder, and briefly saw a spotted, furry arm wrap about his forehead. More claws dug into his temple and the backs of his thighs. A fang-filled mouth clamped over his neck and sank into the tough hide.

His furious roar shattered the silence, and he bucked hard, then rolled onto his back to crush his attacker. An answering growl filled his ear. He grabbed the spotted arm and pulled, releasing its hold on his head. Without thinking, he bit down on the arm hard enough to feel some give in the bone.

The creature did not like being bitten, and tried to scramble away, but he was not in a forgiving mood. Now _he_ leaped upon his foe's back and flattened it. He tore at its flesh, bit into its neck, punched and kicked it until it stopped struggling.

Climbing off it, he huffed rapidly to regain his breath and calm himself. There was blood everywhere. The creature's pale yellow, black-spotted fur was covered with it. Some was red, some black. Confused, he slowly reached up and dragged his fingers across the wound on his neck. He held them poised just below his line of vision, but could not look down.

He hastily wiped his hands on the grass.

Ignoring his wounds, refusing even to look at them, he tore the fur from the carcass and hungrily feasted on the creature's flesh. He found that when he was calm, he could hear that murmur deep in his mind just a little more clearly. Chewing thoughtfully, he wondered about the voice. It didn't seem helpful at all. There didn't seem to be answers in its mutterings. There were urgings, perhaps, but no clear instructions. The urges it inspired were unclear and contradictory, vague and unfocused. Nagging, almost. It seemed to want him angry, and he didn't know why he _should_ be angry. He did not understand what it was trying to tell him.

The voice gave him nothing useful in his present situation, so he decided to ignore it.

Hunger finally satisfied after so many days – however many days, he was not sure – he rose and continued on his way... whatever way his feet seemed to be following.


	2. Urges

**Urges**

He learned quickly that to last from the time the sun peeked over the horizon to the moment it glared down and roasted the top of his head without losing his awareness entirely, was a rare thing. Once that sun bore down upon him, though, it seemed to make the darkness rear up in protest. Once more, he shook the cobwebby mist from his mind and struggled to stand on limbs that still quivered and twitched. Now that he was in the grassland he could see what was happening when he lost himself; the tall grass was flattened and crushed in an area roughly an arm's length all around where he lay. There were furrows where his heels had dug in and kicked up clods of dirt. Though he could see it, he didn't understand what it meant, or what was happening when everything went dark.

But at least the pain in his head was lessening. He had that to be grateful for. That, and the change to the landscape. He was coming into a marshland, it seemed. A wide river flowed into the larger river he'd been more or less following from the falls. The land broke the river into a series of streams weaving in and out of the hills, leaving fens and swamps behind. He could see many birds feeding in the streams, and knew he would not go hungry here.

It was over a meal of some long-legged bird with a sharp, sword-like beak that had nearly taken out his eyes when he slew the gangly thing that he felt _it_. His mind was blank, for he no longer sought answers there, yet there was a strong, insistent pulse beating through his loins. At first, he didn't grasp the meaning of _that_ either; so little of what was happening around him, _to_ him, was familiar. He had taken to not looking ahead or behind. But this was neither ahead of him nor behind him, it was flaring up _right now_. He looked down.

Why would he be hard _now_? What had caused it? Nothing had changed; no thought had crossed his mind that might trigger such a response. He simply wanted. No, that wasn't quite it. He _needed_. The longer he sat there doing nothing, the more insistent the need became, as though another voice entirely were prodding him.

He glanced down to see dark-skinned hands lifting his kilt, and quickly looked away. As if they belonged to another, he let them do their work. He didn't think about it, even though the hands were awkward and inexperienced. Perhaps they had never done this before. He winced from the rough handling at the same time that he felt a small amount of relief from it.

After a few minutes, he stopped; unsatisfied perhaps, but unable to continue. His brow furrowed with confusion. Did... did the good people do this? Somewhere deep, there was a certainty that, while the activities of the good people were not known, those of the bad people _were_. This was not something they did. He wasn't sure what they _did_ do, but it was certain to be something ugly and foul. What he did wasn't... it didn't _feel _foul. Painful, perhaps, but not... _foul_. He was somewhat mollified by that thought.

The sensation struck him yet again later that day while he was squatting in the rushes, watching a bird building a nest. As before, there was no reason for it. He wasn't thinking about _anything_. He did not hunger, he did not thirst, there were no needs he had not assuaged... except, apparently, _this_ one.

Settling on his haunches with a sigh, he took his member in hand and stroked impatiently. It made him angry, that this urge would come on him unprovoked and distract him from more important things.

The afternoon stretched, frequently interrupted by that same need, and each time he became less and less welcoming of the distraction. When he woke from one of his frequent black-outs furiously and painfully stroking himself to no avail, he decided enough was enough.

He had to ignore it, as he had done with the _other_ voice that did him no good and gave him no comfort. This one certainly didn't. His member was raw and irritated; he finished the day sitting in a pool of brakkish water, easing the pain and vowing to keep his hands off it from now on. The fire didn't seem to go out once ignited, no matter what he did, so it was best just to leave it alone. Let it run its course. Do something else when the need assailed him. _Anything_ else.

It wasn't easy to ignore. The nagging voice grew strong when the need arose, as if they were somehow connected. It seemed to tell him that all would be well again if he quenched that need. How could _that_ be, when the attempt to relieve it caused such discomfort? He just did _not_ understand.

He foolishly thought that imagining something repulsive, like the bad people, would kill that urge, but it did not. If anything, it was made worse.

The bad people did not touch themselves. They used... each other...

He banished the thoughts. The good people did not do these things. They did not cause pain. They did not... hurt one another. They did not humiliate...

He was not one of them.

To keep himself occupied, he stalked the birds in the marsh. They were not fooled by his feeble attempts to sneak up on them, but his skills improved with each try. The spindly-legged ones were the easiest, for they seemed to hold themselves superior to the others, standing proud and haughty at the water's edge. They glared at him as if he wouldn't dare disturb them.

He _did_ dare, and was often successful.

Time passed unnoticed, for he only saw what was _now_. _Then_ did not exist, and without its guidance he could not predict the future. So he lived in this moment.

At this moment, a searing pain shot through his head as from one of those arrows he'd seen stuck through the back of the bad person. Clutching his head with both hands, he roared in agony and fell to his knees, then pitched over. He was aware of it this time, fully awake and aware, as his body convulsed and shook. A storm of unmatched fury thundered through his mind. There was screaming, but whether from a powerful wind or a thousand throats calling for aid, he didn't know. It could have been _him_ screaming, for all he knew.

Something was _ripping_ itself out of his head. He didn't know if he should help it or hold on to it. In the end, he could do neither, for nothing could be done. The sensation lasted endless minutes and caused torturous, throbbing pain.

Then it stopped. He lay gasping on the soft earth, holding his head and trembling. Slowly opening his eyes, he peered about. The sun was where it was when he went down; he hadn't blacked out. It hadn't been a dream, either, for now he was exhausted and greatly desired rest. He cautiously sat up, expecting at any moment to be assaulted once again.

Frowning, he realized the voice had stilled. The one that nagged was no longer there. But it had not left him unattended. Now a different voice could be heard, ever so faintly.

He grimaced. The voice was insidious and vile. It made him feel like insects were crawling about inside his head. It seemed to envelope him with its cloying whispers until he felt slime-covered and grotesque. He almost wished the nagging voice would return and drown out this new one, as it may have been doing all along. At least it was quiet, he supposed. The muttering was less intrusive, and didn't seem to urge him to do much of anything, unlike the nagging voice.

Better still, this new voice did not harden him for no reason. As the day progressed, and he found the urge not quite so strong, he decided the nagging voice made it worse; maybe even caused it for some unknown purpose. The new voice didn't, nor did it exacerbate the issue once it started. He found he was able to weather it. He could hunt, or just watch the birds fly overhead.

There were so many different kinds. Most were dun-colored, but a few had startlingly bright plumage. And their songs...

He decided this was what good people did. It must be. He lay in the grasses with his hands behind his head and watched the clouds and the birds. He listened to the water chuckling and giggling as it flowed over mossy rocks. He hummed along with the singing, certain that if he listened long enough, he would understand the words.

Yet as peaceful as this place was, he felt a strong urge to head toward the setting sun. Perhaps the good people were there. Maybe his _home_ was in that direction.

He hadn't lost himself in awhile, perhaps a day or so by this time. It was difficult to remember since he was not keeping track of the days. But he had seen the sun rise once since the nagging voice stilled, and had not had a lost moment since before that happened. He dared to hope the black-outs were over.

The wide river that fed this marshland seemed as good a guide as any, and he began walking along the bank. He could feel it; the good people were in this direction. He would meet them soon. A smile came to him, and he was surprised at the ache it caused in his face, as if he had never smiled before.


	3. Weapontake

**Weapontake**

"I _shall_ marry him," Aelfled said with all the conviction her seven years could muster. "Osgar is an _exceptional_ fellow."

Eafrida rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Listen to you."

"And _you_ shall marry Deorwine," the little girl informed her elder sister.

"Just like that?" Eafrida grinned. "Do not cut the cloth before the pattern is decided, little one. I've no intention of marrying him."

"Oh, but you _must_," Aelfled insisted, her eyes wide with certainty. "You've kissed him, haven't you?"

"Hush!" Eafrida hissed, looking around them. They were alone on the riverbank, thank goodness. "Mind the washing, and keep your nose out of my business."

Aelfled huffed and grabbed a shirt from the basket. Her small hands could do little more than apply soap to the stains, which she did with unnecessary vigor as she pouted.

Their encampment was close by the Entwash, near where it split into the marshy delta. The herding families of the Eastenmet went where the grasses were lush, and there was no better fodder for their beloved horses than the green swards that eventually softened to fens in the delta. When a good spot was found, the three families raised their tents and shelters in a circle around a central firepit and loosed the horses to graze the land. They would stay for many days, weeks if the grazing was good, keeping careful watch over the herds. The children minded the chickens one of the families insisted on keeping. The adults guarded against predators on the plainsland and the occasional Orc band that sometimes crossed the Anduin in the night from the Wetwang. The garrison at Cair Andros still held fast against Mordor, but there were times when the defense there was weak, and Eafrida had vivid memories of those times.

Being a shield maiden of Rohan, Eafrida was no stranger to the sword. Because she lived in the Eastenmet, she was nearly as experienced in battle as her brother.

"Well, if you do not want anyone to know of it," Aelfled piped up, "why did you let him kiss you?" She gave Eafrida the same kind of pursed-lip look her mother gave her.

Her elder sister shrugged and took the wadded up shirt from Aelfled's lap. "I was curious, I suppose," she said as she began scrubbing the stubbornly stained cloth against a rock. "I wondered what it would be like."

Aelfled's eyebrows arched expectantly. "Well? What _was_ it like?"

"Nothing... special," Eafrida said lamely. "Like kissing Eadric, I imagine."

"Ew!" Aelfled grimaced, screwing up her face in exaggerated disgust. "Our _brother_?"

"I _know_," Eafrida agreed, putting on a show of scandalized shock for the little girl's benefit. "I shan't be letting him take such liberties again, I assure you!"

Aelfled looked at her sister with sympathetic concern. "But... you _kissed_ him. You _must_ marry him now."

"What makes you think I must?" Eafrida asked with a smile.

"Father kisses mother," Aelfled stated firmly, as if that fact erased all doubt.

"Well, they _are_ married. Of course they kiss."

A slightly troubled look puckered the little girl's forehead. "Did... father kiss _your_ mother?" she asked in a small, uncertain voice.

"Yes, he did," Eafrida said softly. "He kissed her often."

"I am glad he did," Aelfled said shyly. "It means he loved her."

Eafrida nodded. "Yes, he did. Very much." Reaching out, she took Aelfled's hand and squeezed. "He loves _your_ mother, too."

Aelfled grinned, pleased to hear such confirmation.

"How goes the washing, Frida?"

The little girl leaped to her feet, but fought the urge to fling herself into the young man's arms. Straightening into an imperious pose, she tried to look down her nose at him, though he stood over six feet tall.

"Is that how you greet royalty?" she asked snippily.

Eadric stifled a laugh and assumed a sober expression. It helped having a beard now; he could hide a lot from his sister behind the bristles.

"Apologies, milady," he said gallantly, and dipped forward in a low bow. Nodding her approval, Aelfled dropped a curtsey that might have shocked a highborn lady, considering how high the girl hiked up her skirts to accomplish the task. Knees browned from many close calls with the earth were exposed in a most unladylike manner... rather like how they became dirty in the first place.

Taking her hand and planting a chaste kiss on the knuckles, Eadric begged, "Forgive me, sweet lady, for my negligence. Have mercy upon this humble Eorling. Do tell me how you fare."

Eafrida covered her mouth to suppress a giggle, and her brother winked at her. Eadrig and Eafrida were nearly as close as twins, for less than a year separated them. Taking advantage of the interruption, she slipped her shoes off and dangled her toes gratefully in the river. Nearby, a graceful heron stepped delicately in the shallows, its gaze fixed on the fish swimming about its feet. As she watched, it suddenly went still. She held her breath in anticipation, knowing it would soon strike. With amazing speed, the heron's head darted down into the water.

_Poor dear missed its meal_, she thought. Yet the diligent bird waited patiently for the fish to forget its attack, so it might try again.

"... and of course you _must_ know that the washing cannot be done without me." Aelfled's voice broke into her thoughts and Eafrida rolled her eyes, taking care not to let the little girl see. She was off on one of her daydreams of being the Princess of the Mark, and there was no use in telling her otherwise.

"Truly, your wisdom in these matters is what keeps me from chafing all day," Eadric told her seriously. Glancing over, Eafrida saw that he had apparently been given permission to seat himself in the presence of Her Majesty.

"You _should_ be grateful," Aelfled acknowledged with a superior nod. "I've no doubt when supper is being prepared..."

Eadric suddenly stiffened with alarm and rose hastily, his eyes on the western horizon. "A rider comes," he said.

They were three simple words, yet their affect was instant. Eafrida swiftly donned her shoes and scrambled to her feet. Grabbing Aelfled's hand, she hastened for the nearest tent. It was routine; if an unknown person came within sight, the women and children hid. Their reaction served two purposes: first, the encroacher would not know the encampment's full complement or its vulnerabilities; second, the women had a chance to arm themselves and stage a counterattack if needed.

But the approaching horseman bore the King's banner, and as word of his coming spread, all in the encampment merged in the center and were on hand when he slowed his steaming horse to a walk. Eadric hurried to take the horse's bridle as the man dismounted wearily.

"I come in the name of Théoden King," he began. Aelfled's mother, Eadgyd, offered him a cup of cold water, which he sipped gratefully before continuing. "Théoden King bids you mount horse and ride with all speed to the weapontake at Dunharrow. All able-bodied men who can wield a weapon and seat a horse. War comes to Gondor, and they have called for our aid. The Red Arrow has been delivered."

Some of those gathered around the man gasped with shock; little news made it this far east of the capital.

"Speak, man," Alric growled. Being the eldest, he often spoke for them all. "What news of the King? The last we heard, he was too ill to be seen, and now he calls us to arms? What has happened?"

The messenger took a deep breath and told them briefly what had transpired over the last fortnight, of strange folk appearing out of stories and legends, of a wizard who cured the King of his affliction and cast out the insidious poison that was Wormtongue. He told of the flight to the Hornburg and the dreadful battle there against Saruman's cruel Orcs, and the narrow victory against impossible odds. He then spoke of Saruman's defeat and the destruction of Orthanc.

"A greater battle yet awaits in Gondor, for Minas Tirith will soon be besieged by the Nameless Enemy's hosts," he said urgently. "The King conveys his apologies to all for making such a demand, and on such short notice, but aid is desperately needed or our allies to the south may not stem the tide. We must push back the horde or face a darkness without end."

"Men you may have," Alric said, "but not all. There are women and children here; we will not leave them undefended should war come to the Eastemnet. Enough filth from the Black Land crosses the river unchallenged as it is."

"That is acceptable," the messenger nodded. "As many as you can spare."

"Father," one man said stiffly to Alric, and the elder nodded.

"Coenred, my son," Alric said gruffly, turning to the man beside him. "I will stay and mind the family and our herds."

The man nodded, clearly relieved. "My mind is eased, knowing you will be here. Watch over Aelfled especially," Coenred said. "She is... young, and knows little of these matters."

"We shall keep her too busy to worry," the elder man reassured him. "There will be much to do. I daresay we will not go unnoticed if we do not pull the herds in. Not enough miles lay between us and Gondor here."

"Aye," Coenred agreed. "You might consider moving closer to Edoras. If the wizard's threat has truly been diminished, it is far safer there than here."

"We shall consider it," Alric said. "First thing's first."

"Indeed," Coenred smiled wanly. "Keeping Aelfled from wandering off on her little adventures."

"Of course," Alric nodded, feining insult as if his abilities to keep the little girl in check were being called into question. "I'll tie her foot to a stake in the ground if I have to."

Coenred laughed humorlessly, then shook his father's hand. There was nothing more to be said. Eadgyd embraced him. "My love," she whispered in his ear. "Take this." Fumbling her hair ribbon free with one hand while the other seemed unwilling to let him go, she stuffed the strip of fabric into his hand. "Come back to me, or I shall be cross with you."

"I would not incur your wrath for all the world," he replied gently, and pressed his forehead to hers for a moment. In spite of the gathering of all their folk about them, he did not want to leave his wife unkissed. Let them talk of it; it might be their last. He pressed his lips to hers and lingered there for several minutes, holding her tightly.

Others were just as desperate, seeking out their spouse in the crowd to bid a final farewell. Beornflaede cradled her babe in one arm while the other nearly throttled Godwine, so tightly did she embrace him. Leofdaeg, on one knee to be closer in height to his daughter, held Theodhilde close, the girl sobbing on his shoulder as he sought to console her. His wife, Cynburga, fumbled with his haversack, trying to arrange his rations _just so_, for looking at him brought tears. Several of the young women fluttered about, gathering rations for the departing Eorlingas. Boys too young to accompany them brought horses and tack, then saddled the mounts with all haste. The men wrapped their armor and tied it to the saddles. Weapons were girded.

"Eafrida," a young man called, and she turned. She tried to hide her dismay; it was Deorwine. Would he embarrass her by begging a kiss before departing? Guilt at such a thought at a time like this made her force a smile and wait for him to draw near.

"Dear Eafrida," he said, taking up her hand and kissing the back. "I will go with the men. Can you... would you spare a favor... a token? That I might be strengthened by thoughts of you as I ride to battle?"

"Certainly," she said awkwardly, and loosened the cord tying her long hair back. She laid it across his hand.

"I thank you for this," he said, and looked at her with those lovesick eyes that made her so uncomfortable and filled her with such guilt, for his affections were not returned.

"Fight well," she said.

"Your name shall be upon my lips when I face my foes," he said earnestly, "and every foul Orc I slay will die in your name."

"I am honored by such... declarations," she said uncertainly.

"Will you... wait for me, Eafrida?" he asked hopefully.

"Of... of course I will," she said, hating herself for telling such a lie. But she did not want to send the man into battle with a bruised ego or broken heart. What would that accomplish? "I shall count the days," she added for good measure. He seemed pleased, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Make haste, Eorlingas!" the messenger called as he mounted. There was a rush for the horses by those still ensconced with their brides, stealing one last kiss before departing.

Deorwine glanced over his shoulder, then seemed to make a decision. He swooped down and planted a hasty kiss upon Eafrida's cheek. "I will return," he vowed, then he sprinted off to his horse.


	4. Naming

**Naming**

Less than an hour after the messenger arrived, the young men of the encampment were gone, taking with them the best horses from the herds and the last wishes of a speedy return. Eafrida did not know which loss was worse; her father or her brother. Always before, they fought side-by-side when threats came. She had never watched them ride off to the unknown where she would not know when... or if... they would come back.

"We must carry on," Eadgyd told her, a mask of bravery on her face. "The herds will not tend themselves. I am afraid Eadric's duties are now yours. Just as Coenred's... are mine."

Eafrida nodded, letting the woman briefly embrace her before hurrying off to find Aelfled. The little girl had wandered off in the flurry, not understanding that the men were off to war, or likely even what war _was_.

In a daze, she returned to the riverbank and continued washing clothing. A shirt that was Eadrig's appeared in Eafrida's hands and she stared at it for long moments. He _must_ come back. He simply _must_.

Burying her face in the cloth, she wept.

* * *

Aelfled rarely had such a fortunate chance as this. The grown-ups were all occupied with saddling horses and filling bags with food, loading up armor and bidding farewell. It didn't occur to her that this was something different; they weren't over-supplying themselves for a trip to a far-off field to gather stragglers back to the herds. They weren't even heading in the same direction as the herds.

By the time they left, Aelfled had already wandered a good distance from the encampment in any case, and wouldn't have noticed.

Today she was a giant, stomping through the wilds. The grasses, tall enough to reach her chest, were actually trees, and her huge feet knocked them over with ease. Her sweeping arms pushed them aside as if they were... well, _grass_. Marsh fowl and small animals – dragons and trolls, of course – fled before her in terror.

When the trees had been sufficiently beaten free of their concealed hosts, Aelfled took off after the rabbits. They were _ever_ so difficult to catch, even just to touch. Eadric once brought her a pelt that still graced her pillow at night. While it was soft enough still, she longed to have a living one for her own. But he told her what a chore it was to take one unawares, so she had practiced being quiet for a year. Surely she would be lucky _this_ time.

She was _certainly_ quiet enough today; the wind was making quite a bit of noise in the grass to cover anything _she_ did. And the river was running high with snowmelt from the far off mountains. Grinning, she carefully parted the rushes and peered through.

There was a man there, knee-deep in the shallows, poised and ready to strike. His eyes were focused intently on the fish he was trying to catch with his bare hands. He seemed utterly absorbed in the activity.

The first thought that came to mind was that he might be one of those dark-skinned Easterlings who sometimes traveled through the area on their way to Edoras. One in particular might be this one's brother; the one who brought sweetmeats and soft, shimmering fabrics. Aelfled called him the Sweetsilk Man. He was old and his face was sun-browned and careworn. While this man didn't _act_ old, his face was lined and rough enough to be like that old man's. And his skin was a dark brown, nearly black. Much darker than the Sweetsilk Man's.

He was dressed in a pitiful, dirty and torn tunic that seemed to have been worn by many others before he received it. About his hips hung a leathern kilt that covered him to mid-thigh. This bit of clothing seemed also to have been well done-in.

She watched him for several minutes as he made one failed attempt to catch a fish after another. _She_ would have been frustrated, but he seemed more patient than any grown-up she'd ever seen. Where she was sure to stomp her feet in frustration, he just sighed and tried again.

The dark man didn't seem in a talking mood, so Aelfled quietly retreated. She knew better than to interrupt someone in the midst of hunting; Eadric got _ever_ so mad when she forgot to be quiet and scared the game away. Perhaps she'd come again another time, if she could get away from the all-seeing eye of Eafrida. If he was one of those Easterlings, he would have wonderful stories to tell.

* * *

"Where have you _been_?" Eafrida cried, rushing up to Aelfled when she reappeared at the encampment. "You've been gone for hours! Father wanted to tell you good-bye, you silly girl!"

Frowning, Aelfled asked, "Has father gone?"

"Yes!" Eafrida huffed with exasperation. "Father's gone, Eadric's gone, Deorwine and ten others... They left with the King's Rider. Did you not _listen_?"

Alric strode over to the pair with a stern expression. "Easy now, Frida. The girl doesn't understand what is happening."

"Perhaps if she _listened_ once in awhile...," Eafrida groused, then steadied herself. "Apologies, Aelfled. But you really _must_ stay close now."

"Yes, indeed," Alric agreed. "There is a great threat that your father and brother have gone to attend to." Softening before the wide, curious blue eyes of his granddaughter, his voice gentled. "We must _all_ stay close from now on. Watch out for one another. I daresay I shall sleep more easily, knowing you... are watching over your poor sister." He barely turned his head to send the older girl a slight wink. Eafrida arched her brow with amusement.

"Well...," Aelfled said slowly, "I suppose. Though it is _so_ dull here. How long will we stay this time? It has been _forever_ since we moved on!"

"It has been a month," Alric said patiently. "The mares have yet to drop their foals, and those we wish to breed have not begun their season. The grass remains as lush as ever it has been in other years. We shall stay for a good while yet."

The little girl huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. Perhaps she _wouldn't_ tell them about the Easterling downriver. From the sound of it, they would likely forbid her from going to visit the dark man again.

"Come along now," Eafrida said, offering her hand. "We need to gather eggs from the hens before they lose their heads and try to hatch them."

* * *

He woke with a start in the hollow by the river, gasping as though the tide had rushed in to drown him. It was another of _those_ dreams. The ones that were only darkness and pain; he could remember nothing else of them upon waking. When his eyes opened, he would often feel the need to get his hands on something... _anything_... and squeeze the life out of it. He hated feeling that way, for he just _knew_ the good people wouldn't.

Sometimes when he hunted, and his hands were grasping a frightened animal desperately fighting to survive, he crushed it slowly and took pleasure in its screams. He seemed almost detached, watching himself hurt something unnecessarily instead of killing it quickly and efficiently. Almost as if he were seeing himself in a dream.

He didn't like when that happened. He wasn't comfortable with himself when he did such things, yet he couldn't seem to stop. The prey was getting easier to catch as his skills improved, but if something he knew he should be able to best gave him a rough time, he made it pay for every scratch and bite he suffered. Then he felt shame for making _it_ suffer.

Was he two made one? A dark and vicious one merged with a gentler, peaceful one? Why else was he so conflicted? Why did he hate the side of himself that was not dominant at any given time; the dark one hating the other for its pathetic weakness, and the peaceful one hating the cruel one for doing things the good people would despise?

It seemed that the disturbing thoughts never left him, either. He had hoped that following the river toward the setting sun, where his instincts seemed to be telling him home could be found, he would be _less_ troubled, not _more_. All he seemed to have for his efforts were more questions and more worries, not less.

The dreams robbed him of sleep as well. He got less and less every night, for he woke with a start many times. Getting to sleep in the first place was already difficult; the voice's faint buzzing at the back of his mind was just loud enough to bother him. Only if he slept beneath the sun did the noise diminish to a tolerable level.

He woke hungry, as usual. One of those creatures he watched swimming was near enough to catch, and he went after it. They were especially difficult to get a hold of, with their sleek fur and smooth, slippery movements in the water. They were far more efficient fishermen than he, that was certain. He could emulate their strokes passably enough not to drown, but was still trying hard to catch fish even a fraction as well.

But when he was successful, their meat was very tasty.

Having sated his hunger, he settled himself down to sleep again. The sun was high and warm, a contrast to the chill in the air that never seemed to bother him, yet left frost on the grass and moss each morning. The dreams would not find him beneath the sun. Sighing with relief, he closed his eyes.

* * *

He might have been asleep for hours or minutes when he slowly drifted awake. Drawing in a deep breath, he paused and frowned. Then he opened his eyes.

A person was sitting next to him. He slowly turned his head and looked at it. The person smiled warmly.

"Hello," it said pleasantly. Its voice was light and musical.

Blinking, he opened his mouth to speak, and found his throat was dry. "Hhh... hello," he rasped. He realized he hadn't spoken a single word until now, for there had been no one to speak _to_. None living, anyway. He hadn't even known he _could_ speak.

He'd never seen anyone like this person. It had long, wavy yellow hair and light skin. Its eyes were blue like the sky. It was small; he guessed it must only be as tall as his waist or less. Something in her features stirred a multitude of thoughts, too many to examine properly at the moment. He remained still, and simply stared at the figure as he tried to process what he was looking at. The only clear idea that didn't confuse him was the realization that this was a female.

"Are you ill?" she asked, a worried frown on her face.

His brow furrowed and he thought about it. He felt fine; better rested than before, anyway. "No."

"Are you hurt, then?" she pressed.

He shook his head. "No."

The female smiled with relief and shifted to a more comfortable position. "You sleep most soundly. I have watched you for several minutes, and you did not know I was here." She grinned with satisfaction, as if proud of her accomplishment.

"I... am tired," he said slowly.

"Oh?" she replied. "Do you not sleep at night?"

"Not well," he said. His sluggish mind seemed to finally latch onto a coherent realization, and his eyes widened. "Are you... one of the good people?"

She straightened her back and lifted her chin. "Of _course_ I am. I'm _very_ good."

"Are you a dream?" he asked urgently. "I have been looking..."

Her laughter was strange; the high pitch irritated his sensitive ears, yet warmed his heart.

"Now you are being silly," the little one said with a grin. "No, I am not a dream. You are quite awake." She held out her hand, palm down. "My name is Aelfled."

He didn't know what to do. Sitting up, he just stared at the little hand, then looked up at the mischievous little face.

"Oh dear," she said, shaking her head. "You do need teaching. Here." Aelfled reached over and took his hand. He watched, his head tilted to the side, as she hooked her fingers over his. "Now you kiss the back of my hand like a good gentleman."

He stared blankly at her.

"You _do_ know what a kiss is, don't you?" she asked, and her tone made him feel embarrassment for his ignorance. But if this was one of the good people, he must not anger her by snarling a defensive retort.

"No, I do not," he growled. Far from being annoyed, she _tsked_ and shook her head.

"You do this," she said, and switched their hands so _she_ held _his_ fingers. Then she raised his hand to her pursed lips and pressed his knuckles. "There. That is not so hard. Now you."

Awkwardly, he lifted her hand and held it to his lips for a moment. She beamed her approval, and he relaxed.

"What is your name?" she asked, clasping her hands in her lap.

He blinked rapidly for a moment, then frowned with great distress. He didn't know. He hadn't thought about it before, but now it seemed to be something important that he _should_ know. If one of the good people was asking, it _must_ be important.

Breath quickening, he looked pleadingly at her, hoping she would not take offense. "I do not know."

"Goodness!" she exclaimed. "Did you _ever_ have a name?"

"I... don't know," he repeated, growing more upset each moment. He searched what little was there, rattled his empty mind in hopes that _something_ would fall out. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to _force_ a name to appear. He _must_ have been called _something_, mustn't he?

Like a moth fluttering just out of reach, he found it. Or something that told him _name_. Some part of his name... something that _meant_ his name... or that his name must have meant...

"Bone," he blurted. "My name... something about... _bone_. That is all I know."

"Hmmm," she said thoughtfully, tapping her lower lip with one small finger and narrowing her eyes at him. "That is a Common word. You are in Rohan; you should be called something in our tongue. If you are _bone_ where you come from, you must be _baan_ here. So you are Baan." Pleased with herself, she smiled radiantly at him.

"Baan," he repeated, testing the word. "You will call me Baan?"

"Until you recall your true name, I shall," she said confidently. "Do you live here, Baan?"

He liked hearing the word, and felt good having a name. Baan shook his head. "No. I follow the river."

"I am _told_ it is not safe," she said confidentially. "We come here every spring, and nothing _ever_ happens. Except sometimes these... Orcs or somesuch come around, and everyone gets all in a tizzy. They only come at night, and I am always kept in a tent until they are slain, so I have never seen one in my entire life, and honestly, I do not even believe they _exist_."

Baan frowned. The word _Orc_ stirred yet another thought. A very uncomfortable one. "Are Orcs... bad people?"

"Absolutely," Aelfled said, nodding vigorously. "To hear my father go on, they are the _most_ bad people _ever_. Not even _people_, as such. You know, you should probably come back with me to the encampment," she said thoughtfully, and Baan perked up. "I like you, Baan, and it is not easy getting away from my _sister_." She rolled her eyes. "Always nosing about, keeping me out of trouble, so she says. _She_ let a boy kiss her, you know," Aelfled said, then dropped her voice to a scandalized whisper, "and now she won't even _marry_ him!"

"What is 'marry'? Baan asked, bemused.

"That is when a man goes down on one knee and pledges his everlasting love for his lady," she said, holding her clasped hands up to her heart wistfully. "Their wrists are tied and they jump over a broom. And they kiss _a lot_."

"Like I kissed you?" he said, nodding toward her hand. He couldn't help but smile at her.

"Oh, not _that_ sort of kissing," she said dismissively. "I wouldn't let you kiss me like _that_. Osgar would be _so_ terribly jealous. At least, I think he would," she said, frowning suddenly. "I know _I_ should be jealous if _he_ kissed a girl that wasn't me. But I don't think he likes them. Girls, that is. He thinks we're fussy and noisy. I ask you." She rolled her eyes again, as if Osgar were just being silly.

"Well, you certainly cannot come back to the encampment dressed like _that_," she continued, and Baan frowned. "It simply _won't do_. My father has left for a little while; I am sure he won't mind if you borrowed something of his. You look to be about his size." She scanned the bewildered man appraisingly. "Yes, about. I shall fetch a clean shirt and trousers for you, and then you shall come back with me where it is safe."

He didn't know quite what to say. His breath quickened with gratitude and he fumbled to kiss her hand again, for it seemed to please her. "Thank you," he said meaningfully. "I'll wait here... Aelfled."

"Oh, and you should really address me as 'milady.' It's more proper." Rising, she waited for him to stand as well, then added, "And you should bow when you greet me. Like a gentleman."

"Yes, milady," he said, and bent forward at the waist. She offered her hand once more, and he kissed it again.

"Very good, Baan," she said, beaming. "I shall see you on the morrow, very likely. When Her Watchfulness is looking the other way."


	5. Catching

**Catching**

Baan sat unmoving for several minutes after Aelfled's little blonde head disappeared in the distance. He wasn't entirely convinced she was real, and not part of his dreams. The fact that he _remembered_ seeing her, speaking with her, must mean she was real.

If nothing else, he was even more convinced he was one of the good people. Surely she would have been frightened of him if he was one of the bad ones. One of those... Orcs. Now that he was thinking about it, he knew they were Orcs, those dead creatures. They were ugly and foul, so they _must_ be Orcs. They looked nothing like the good people.

So many thoughts crowded into his head when he saw her, but her talkative and friendly manner made him ignore the uncomfortable ones. In her absence, he pieced through them, trying to make some sense of it all.

Much of what he'd thought was uncomfortable, he realized. The sight of her made him hunger, but not just for another person to talk with. He'd eaten before lying down, yet looking at her... He wished to eat again. Something about her caused his mouth to water and his stomach to clench in anticipation.

Had he once known someone like her who gave him good food? Perhaps. It didn't seem _quite_ right, but further delving only made the thought grow darker and less... pleasant.

Another thing that came to him in her presence was a strange anxiety, as though she... or someone like her... had threatened him at some point. It wasn't _fear_, exactly, just... a strange sense of wariness. As though sitting there speaking calmly with her was somehow... wrong. Not something he should have done.

The thought was completely unreasonable, as far as he was concerned. She was no threat to him; he had never seen her in his life; he was fairly sure she could not have hurt him before he awoke, either. Even if she _had_, would _she_ not remember it? It made no sense, so he pushed it away. He'd long since given up trying to find answers to unanswerable questions.

Right now, he found he was still hungry. The sweet meat of that smooth-furred swimmer sounded very tempting. Going to the riverbank, he squatted down and dove in the way he'd seen them enter the shallows. He'd learned the hard way that the creatures didn't breathe underwater; trying to do so was a _very_ bad thing. His large, bulky body was no match for theirs, of course. He couldn't swish his legs from side to side like they did their tails, nor could he make a great deal of progress without paddling his limbs.

Perhaps he _wasn't_ quite like them, but he was getting better at swimming, and that was providing him with a whole other world to look at. Beneath the surface, where the light did not reach, there was a great deal of beauty he couldn't see from above. The fish that hid from his eyes flowed around him in the current when he was among them. Birds that dove into the shallows were now revealed to be fishing, and he had yet more skillful fishermen to be jealous of.

Only the pain in his lungs from holding his breath was sufficient reminder that he needed air, and he would surface. More often than not, he came away empty-handed simply because he hadn't wanted to disturb the world below or take away from its loveliness by filling it with the blood of a kill.

The other part of him, the one that thirsted for such things, told him blood would improve upon the scene immeasurably, but he chose to ignore it.

Of course, now that he had swum for a long while without catching anything, he was exhausted and _still_ hungry. Frustrated with himself, he sat in the sunlight on the riverbank, watching the swimmer float on its back in the water, small hands deftly holding a fish on its chest as it ate. Baan had never tried floating on his back; he wondered if there was a trick to it.

The swimmer was a difficult one to catch, he mused. On land, it was a bit easier, but it never strayed far from the water. Its speed and agility far outstripped his own once it dove into the shallows. He wondered if he could somehow slow it down before it could escape to where it had advantage over him...

* * *

"Must I watch you every second?" Eafrida scolded. "I turn my back for a moment and you've disappeared!"

Aelfled scuffed her toe in the dirt and kept her head bowed so her sister wouldn't see her cheeky mimicking. Again, she kept her dark friend to herself, suspecting that any mention of visiting him again would prompt even _more_ annoying watchfulness.

In any case, it didn't matter. Once he was properly attired, she would bring him back here, where he would be safe.

"Come along now. Some of our herd has wandered far and we must bring them in closer," Eafrida said briskly. "If I'm to manage all of Eadric's duties, you will help me."

"Why can't Eadric do it?" the little girl groused, making a show of stomping the earth in her sister's wake.

"I've explained a dozen times," Eafrida reminded her. "Father and Eadric have gone with the men to Gondor."

"Where is Gondor?"

"It is a great country to the south," she explained as they headed westward. "There is a mighty city there – Minas Tirith – that is in need of our help."

"What's wrong with them?" Aelfled asked, curious in spite of herself.

"They are in danger," Eafrida replied as patiently as she could. No one wanted little Aelfled to fret and worry over what fate might befall her father and brother. Eafrida wished _she_ were kept blissfully protected from such worries, for it was all she could think about. "Father and Eadric have gone to make them safe."

"Oh!" Aelfled said, eyes aglow with childlike pride. "They came all this way looking for _my_ father to help them?"

"Yes," Eafrida replied, trying to hide her smile. "Only father can save them."

"Well, he _is_ brave and strong," the little girl pointed out. "Very well. I suppose they may borrow him for a time, but I _do_ expect him to come _straight_ home when he's done."

"As soon as they are safe again, he will come home," Eafrida reassured her sister. Thankfully, Aelfled seemed satisfied with that. Eafrida did not wish to talk about it any more.

While Eafrida didn't doubt her father's and brother's abilities, they had gone far away. Anything could happen to them. Without her at their side, she could do nothing to ensure they returned. She hated feeling so helpless.

Bringing the mares in closer was a routine task that was quickly accomplished. The stallion that presided over his 'harem' was well used to being urged back within sight of the encampment, and allowed himself to be herded by the two girls. Where he went, his mares followed.

The afternoon passed swiftly by, but what with the watchful eye of not only Eafrida but her own mother upon her, Aelfled had no opportunity to return to her new friend. She eventually gave up; she _had_, after all, promised she'd see him tomorrow. He certainly would be much safer in the encampment. And she would be less likely to wander off if one of those Easterlings with their treasure trove of stories were close at hand.

Now that she was thinking about him, he wasn't nearly as old as she thought. Perhaps his ugliness – which was _profound_, the poor dear – made him _seem_ like an old man. He was all alone, and worse, he _looked _lonely. Poor Baan. He needed a friend, that was certain. Perhaps he would like a lady? Father was ever so much happier when his ladies, as he called her, Frida and Mother, were about him. Well, since Eafrida turned her nose up at Deorwine, perhaps she might like Baan.

Satisfied that they would all benefit from the dark man coming to the encampment, Aelfled settled herself in her bedding and heeded the call of sleep.

* * *

"I understand your frustration," Eadgyd said in a low voice so not to disturb the little girl's rest. The family shared a single temporary shelter; the materials for making them were difficult to come by in sufficient quantities, so when enough hides were gathered to do so, they were more often then not used to build a couple's first shelter. Eafrida had never known another; she had lived in this same one for eighteen years. Here was home, no matter where in the Mark it was erected.

Sighing, Eafrida continued, "I am sure it is a silly thing to think, but... I feel that if I were with them..."

"It is not silly," Eadgyd reassured her. "Were I as young as you, I would likely feel the same. We are... helpless here."

Eafrida nodded. "Very much so. Perhaps it is an arrogant thing to believe, but... I am just _sure_ that they will get up to all sorts of mischief if I am not there to get them out of it."

Eadgyd laughed quietly. "If only that were true. I fear if you were drawing a sword at their side, they would divert their attention to protect _you_. Ignoring, of course, all the times you have proven yourself quite capable in a fight."

Rolling her eyes, Eafrida grudgingly agreed. "Men are so foolish, believing we cannot defend ourselves even if we prove over and over again that we can."

"We must indulge their pride, I'm afraid," Eadgyd said with amusement. "It gives them confidence and strength, taking care of what they consider their own." Sobering, the woman furrowed her brow. "I was too distracted to say anything before, but it would ease my mind greatly if you carried a sword from now on. Especially when you are far from the encampment seeing to the herd."

Biting her lip, Eafrida winced. "I was _so_ upset with Aelfled for running off _again_ that it slipped my mind. I will be more vigilant in future."

"Thank you," Eadgyd replied with relief. "And when I cannot watch over Aelfled, could you..."

"Certainly," Eafrida said quickly. "We must all look out for one another now. If war is coming..." She glanced over to make sure Aelfled still slept soundly, yet lowered her voice even more. "If war is coming to our lands, it will come from the east, I am certain. Cair Andros has been spotty in its defense of late; I fear it will not stand if a determined host wishes to cross there."

"I am sure you are right," Eadgyd agreed. "Moreso must we keep Aelfled from wandering eastward. I saw her returning from that direction this morning, and it worried me."

"I saw her as well," Eafrida said, then smirked. "I've learned to suspect the worst when she has a smile like _that_ on her face."

Eadgyd stifled a laugh. "She has her father's adventurous spirit," she said as supportively as she could.

"And her brother's head for getting into trouble," Eafrida added with a grin. "He has gotten _worse_ with age, not better."

"I barely remember him as a child," Eadgyd mused absently, then stopped, looking at Eafrida uncomfortably. "Forgive me."

Sighing, Eafrida shook her head. "There is nothing to forgive, Eadgyd."

"We have not... talked of... I did not know your family well, before your mother..."

"I _know_," Eafrida said. "That was many years ago."

"He _does_ miss her," Eadgyd pointed out, as if trying to reassure her. "He speaks of her sometimes."

Eafrida nodded. "I am sure he does. But she died a long time ago."

"I have never sought to replace..." Eadgyd asserted.

"Eadgyd," Eafrida interrupted, "I am not angry with you. I have _never_ been angry. I did not object then when father wedded you, and I don't object now."

Seemingly mollified, Eadgyd nodded. "It has been a worry of mine for awhile. When Cenhelm took another wife, his daughter was so... resentful..."

"Ebba would resent the sun for shining too brightly," Eafrida said matter-of-factly, and Eadgyd had to cover her mouth to suppress the explosive laugh. "You seem to forget Cenhelm married a woman not much older than his daughter. I might have been less tolerant if father had done _that_. But you are of an age with him. You suit one another well." Bowing her head for a moment to gather herself, she looked up again into Eadgyd's grateful face. "He was sad for a very long time, until you told him to stop being so melancholy and smile once in awhile." She grinned at Eadgyd's blush. "I do believe you caught him right then and there. Very clever."

"It was not my intention," Eadgyd protested, yet could not hide her pleased smile. "But I do not regret the prize I won that day."

* * *

"Whatever is she up to _now_?" Eafrida wondered, seeing Aelfled darting from behind a bale of hay and back into the family's shelter. Breakfast was finished, the washing up done, and now she was on her way out to gather in yet another group of wandering grazers. Because Eadgyd was in a different location assessing the mares' conditions in anticipation of spring breeding, Eafrida had 'Aelfled duty.' But the little girl was acting terribly suspicious.

_When is she not?_ Eafrida thought. Sighing, she angled her steps toward the large tent now that the child had been found. Quite suddenly, Aelfled emerged holding a bundle of clothing, once again scanning about. Her secretive manner made Eafrida duck into hiding. _I shall see what she is about_, she decided.

Aelfled was a passable sneak, of course, but Eafrida was better. She'd stalked game at her brother's side from the moment their father decided it was time they learned how to hunt. Perhaps in a year or so, Aelfled would be similarly schooled, but for now, she was clumsy and loud in the rushes. Eafrida smirked as one startled animal after another ran for cover from the child's heedless advance.

It was worrisome that Aelfled was heading _east_ again. Any other direction would not have alarmed Eafrida nearly as much, but eastward lay the River Anduin, and beyond that the Black Land. Perhaps miles uncounted lay between them and that place, but with the men gone to fight such creatures as lived there, the threat seemed closer.

And what in the world required the girl to bring _clothing_?

Perhaps an hour or more passed before Aelfled seemed to have reached her destination. Eafrida concealed herself well and watched as the little girl looked around searchingly.

"Baan? Are you here?" she called, and Eafrida frowned. Had she found someone wandering about the fens? That would not do. Hadn't they told her time and again not to speak with outsiders when none of her elders were about? Eafrida grasped the hilt of her sword and prepared to rise.

"Oh, _there_ you are! I hope I did not disturb you," Aelfled said with relief. A dark figure rose out of the tall grasses, and Eafrida froze in shock. A creature out of nightmares stood only a few yards from her innocently smiling sister.

"Aelfled. Milady." Then he bowed and kissed the little girl's proffered hand.


	6. Meeting

**Meeting**

Eafrida trembled all over, but that was all she could do for several moments. He looked so strangely Orc-like, and yet very like a Man. She had seen _many_ Orcs, and none looked... quite... like _him_. To begin with, he was tall. He might even be able to look her father in the eye. No Orc she had ever seen stood taller than she, and in fact seemed shorter still with their stooped posture. _This _one stood as straight as a Man. Most of the Orcs who came from the east were gray or mossy green; this one was a rich, earthy brown. Unlike an eastern Orc, thick dark hair grew on his head and flowed down his back nearly to his waist. Though his ears were not as elongated as a true Orc's, they were unmistakably pointed. And his face...

His low forehead cast dark shadows over his eyes, and his nose seemed more blunt than a Man's. Scars across his forehead and down one cheek told of battles he had survived; harsh lines gave the impression of frequent scowling. The corners of his mouth were turned down, almost as though he frowned, yet nothing else about his countenance appeared displeased. But when he spoke, she saw his teeth; jagged, sharp, and dog-like. There was no mistaking _them_ for a Man's.

Yet he was enough like a Man that a hideous suspicion of his making crossed her mind before horrified revulsion banished the thought.

What stayed Eafrida's hand, what rooted her to the spot, was how he'd received Aelfled. He bowed. He kissed her hand. He called her 'milady.' Very like how Aelfled insisted their brother greet her. A stunning thought assailed her: Had Aelfled, that mischievous little scamp, dared to teach an Orc _manners_?

"Look what I have brought you," Aelfled said brightly, holding up the clothing. "A sight better than what you have, I must say."

"Thank you," Baan replied, accepting the shirt and trousers. Without hesitation, he peeled his own ragged tunic off and dropped it on the ground.

"Gracious, Baan!" Aelfled cried, then put her hands on her waist. He stopped with his hands poised at the belt keeping his kilt on. "That is _most_ improper. You must wait until my _back_ is turned. Honestly!" Huffing indignantly, the little girl turned around. "Now you may dress. My goodness!" Shrugging, Baan unbuckled the belt and the kilt slid down his legs.

Eafrida stared at the Orc's naked form, her mouth hanging open. Though she shared a tent with her family and had done so her entire life, there were still accommodations made for a degree of privacy. She had never seen an unclothed man before, yet she guessed that there was likely little difference between this Orc's... features and a man's.

Her wide eyes seemed glued to his privates, and her cheeks grew hot. She was not an ignorant child; the closeness of the family's shelter had never shielded her from her parents' amorous coupling. They likely thought themselves unheeded, so deep in the night did they reach for one another. Eafrida and Eadric had sometimes been woken by a sharp intake of breath or a poorly concealed sigh of pleasure. The siblings typically stifled giggles and shared amused glances. _There they go again_, their eyes said.

She understood what was done. She knew the _mechanics_ of the act.

To see with her own eyes how a man was made inspired very uncomfortable thoughts that did not seem to invade when she witnessed the stallions covering the mares in season. Even _less_ comfortable considering the harbinger of such thoughts.

As she watched him dress, for she could not tear her eyes from his well-muscled body, she realized there were quite a few old scars about his torso. His arms and legs bore the worst, though, as if he'd not been armored there when he went into battle. Even as he pulled the shirt on, she noticed a set of long cuts across his shoulders that were far more recent.

It suddenly hit her that the homespun shirt and brown trousers he was now wearing belonged to her father.

That seemed to break the spell she was under, and she gathered herself, rising purposely from her hiding place and unsheathing her sword as she advanced. The Orc turned his head and looked at her.

Had he come at her like all Orcs did, she would have driven her blade into his gut without hesitation. But he just stood there and tilted his head to the side curiously.

"Eafrida!" Aelfled cried, and once more her hands were on her waist. "Were you spying? For shame!"

"Come here, sister," Eafrida said sternly, stepping foward and leveling her sword at the Orc's chest. Ignoring for the moment his deceptively calm manner, she looked him directly in the eyes.

His eyes were not what she expected. Where Orcs had red eyes, his were a vibrant yellow. Nearly golden, and so savagely intent. They were a predator's eyes, yet his face was open and seemingly without deceit.

Baan barely remembered to blink, and then was reluctant to do so lest this female disappear. He had registered on some level that Aelfled was a child. _This_ female was not. She was beautiful, even more than the younger one. Her hair was longer and brighter, somehow; her eyes held wisdom the youngling's did not. Though she had drawn a weapon on him, he could forgive her for it. He could forgive her _anything_.

The urges that so plagued him returned upon seeing her, and with them came a prompt stiffening of his member. He had no idea if what he felt was normal, and dared not act on it. As he had done for many days, he forced the urge back, grimacing with the effort. It seemed to require a _greater_ effort than ever before. Stronger yet was the need to just be _near_ her. In her presence. It was a wholly unexpected reaction that utterly baffled him.

"That is not very nice," Aelfled admonished.

"Get behind me, _now_," Eafrida snapped, and to her relief, Aelfled did as she was told, though not as quickly as the elder girl would have liked.

"You're being _rude_," Aelfled grumbled. "This is _Baan_. He is a nice man. I am sure you would like him if..."

"_Look at him_!" Eafrida hissed. For a moment, she was surprised by the look of slack-jawed befuddlement on his face, but rallied quickly. "Do you have any idea...?"

"It is _not_ polite to stare!" her little sister whispered fiercely. Baan looked from one to the other, getting visibly nervous. "He can't very well help how he looks, the poor thing."

Eafrida rolled her eyes in exasperation. The child had only _just_ learned that others had feelings as well; now was not exactly a good time to exercise such knowledge. But in truth, the family had gone to great lengths to keep Aelfled from seeing Orcs. Not because they thought the beasts too ugly for her delicate sensibilities, but because they believed her too young to be witness to the violence that always accompanied them. Orcs showed no mercy, and were not afforded such. The nighttime battles were vicious affairs, leaving many of their folk wounded and not a few Orc corpses behind.

"What... what do I... look like?"

Startled, Eafrida stared at him. His eyes were wide, but not from anger. His confused look had been replaced with one of deep concern. He seemed... troubled. Terribly worried.

It hit her as a bolt of lightning, seemingly from nowhere. Five... perhaps six summers ago, a man in their encampment was injured attempting to break one of the yearlings for riding. He was flung from the horse and landed wrong. For _months_ after, he could not remember who he was.

This... Baan... had the same innocent, bewildered look about him. The look of someone who has no idea what his life was like before _that point_. The time before the moment of injury was darkness impenetrable. She slowly lowered her sword.

"Have you... not... looked at yourself?" she asked quietly.

The question seemed to freeze him for a moment, and she wondered what was going through his mind. His strange eyes darted about as he grew more distressed.

"Never mind," she said quickly. "What is your name?"

"Aelfled calls me Baan," he replied, grateful for the change of subject.

"But... what is your _name_?"

"She calls me Baan," he repeated, and once more his concern mounted.

"Do you... know your name? Not what Aelfled calls you, but what you were called... before?"

He began to tremble, and would not look at her as he shook his head. "No."

"Where did you come from?" she asked carefully. Though she was asking her questions calmly, as if she were approaching a wounded animal, he seemed to be nearly panicked. It was clear his inability to answer such simple questions caused him great distress.

Shaking his head, he said, "I... I don't know." His eyes pleaded with her... for what? An answer? Forgiveness for his ignorance?

"That is all right," she said gently. "Perhaps we can sort it out. From what direction did you come?"

This answer he knew, and readily pointed eastward.

Stiffening, she composed herself with great difficulty. "Did you come from across the river?"

He frowned and shook his head. "There was... a waterfall coming down from a high place. I followed the river until I came to the land of many rivers. I followed _this_ one and came... here."

"This... high place," she pressed. "Is that where you lost your memory?"

He seemed confused by the statement and shrugged. "That is where I woke," he said.

She nodded. "And you do not think that place was your home?"

Now he shook his head with greater vigor, as if there was no doubt in his mind that it wasn't.

"You follow the river... this way?" she asked, gesturing back the way she and Aelfled had come. He nodded. "Why? Is there... some reason? Do you know?"

"I go... home," Baan said uncertainly. His brow furrowed. "It is where the sun sets. Where the good people live."

"The... good people?" she said, confused. "What do you mean?"

"The _good_ people," he repeated, nodding toward her and Aelfled.

"I see," she nodded. "You believe _we_ are... good people. Who, then, are the _bad_ people?"

"Orcs, of course," Aelfled supplied. "They _always_ come, and they _always_ do bad things. Please, Frida!" she cried, grabbing her sister's wrist and tugging on it. "You have told me so often it isn't safe this far from camp. We cannot leave Baan all by himself. He simply _must_ come back with us. Please?"

Holding up a hand to still her sister, Eafrida narrowed her eyes. "Who are _your_ people?"

"They are the good people," Baan replied. While he did not look to be deceiving _her_, Eafrida felt that perhaps he was lying to _himself_, and was somehow both aware and unaware that he was doing so.

"What are your people like?" she probed carefully.

"They do not cause pain," he answered readily. "They do not hurt others. The good people look like _you_."

Something in his eyes just then brought a blush to her cheeks and she had to look away.

"So... you believe you are... one of the good people," she said awkwardly.

"I must be," he replied. "I lived."

"The bad people... died?" she asked, stealing a peek at his face. Those intense eyes were still locked on her, and he nodded slowly. Swallowing, she continued. "What did the bad people look like?"

"Dark skinned," he said quietly, and his gaze wandered off as he remembered the bodies. "Sharp teeth and claws. Faces full of hate." He had tried very hard not to think back that far, and now his breath quickened as he reacted to the memory. He felt himself trembling and his eyes darted to Eafrida's. "They did bad things. I am not one of them."

Eafrida felt herself wavering, which was shocking enough. But he was so... helpless. The man who had lost his memory all those years ago was upset all the time and seemed so lost. He did not even remember his own _wife_. He had no memory of his children, either, and that loss plagued him more than any. He was the only man she had ever seen weep.

Looking at Baan, she realized she pitied him. Perhaps, being an Orc, his memories were better left unrecalled. Their absence, though it upset him greatly to be so ignorant of himself, seemed to allow the Man-like nature merely hinted at by his mixed features to dominate. Perhaps it was this dominance that calmed him now, rendering him capable of engaging in civilized conversation with one his kind had always considered an enemy.

"If we do _not_ bring him," Aelfled warned, interrupting her sister's musings, "I shall return here every day to make sure he is safe. _You_ will worry about me, _mother_ will worry, _grandfather_ will worry..." She sniffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "You should agree just to spare yourselves the misery."

"Empty threats," Eafrida remarked absently, then glanced at her sister. "Grandfather said he'd tie your foot to a stake to keep you close."

"He did not!" Aelfled cried indignantly.

"He most assuredly did," Eafrida confirmed, then added, "And father agreed it would be best." Looking back at Baan, she appraised him. He held her gaze unflinchingly. Such eyes as his were difficult to endure for long; they made her feel hunted. Quite naked as well, they were so piercingly focused.

Yet she did not falter. To do so was to admit weakness. She had learned as much from her brother, the 'expert' on Orcs. What would he say now, she wondered? What would her _father_ say, a man who knew far more about the despicable creatures than any?

_No,_ she told herself, noting the way Baan chewed his lip with uncertainty. _He is not __**very**__ despicable. Just... lost._

"Aelfled, I... I think you are right," Eafrida finally said. The little girl perked up from her pouting. "We should at least consult with grandfather. I am certain he will know what must be done about Baan."

"Oh, good!" Aelfled cried, clapping her hands joyfully. Turning to Baan, she said in a very loud whisper she clearly didn't realize her sister could hear, "Grandfather always lets me have what I want."

Eafrida shook her head and sighed. "We should go now, while the sun is..." She halted and stared at Baan.

It was broad daylight, and yet this Orc stood peacefully under the sun's rays as though they had no affect on him. This seemed to be further proof that he was not like the Orcs of the Black Land. Curious.

Shaking herself, she continued, "While the sun is high. We do not want to be traveling at night. Baan, you should gather your things."

He stared blankly at her. "I have no... things."

Being the sort who took _hours_ to sort and pack her personal items each time the camp moved from one location to another, it came as a shock that he had nothing... _nothing_ to call his own. Nothing at all that he could not part with when asked to depart on a moment's notice.

Somehow, that seemed even more sad. "Very well," Eafrida managed to say, "come along then." And she led the way back to the camp.


	7. Judgment

**Judgment**

It was not easy for Eafrida to guide them in the right direction yet keep the Orc in the corner of her eye. She just could _not_ trust this strange complacence of his. Were they not deceivers of the worst kind? All evidence seemed to deny such a conclusion in _his_ case at least, but what if she guessed wrong?

On one side of the argument was Aelfled. The little girl was bold to the point of foolishness, it was true, yet there was no doubt in Eafrida's mind that if Baan had given her cause to fear, she would not have returned to him. It was highly unlikely that anything an Orc might do to cause fear would be survivable in any case.

On the other hand, why did she not tell them of him? Did he swear her to secrecy in order to lure more folk from the encampment to their doom? Or perhaps wished to lull her enough that he might be invited back with her... As Eafrida was doing now. Narrowing her eyes, she slowly looked at him fully.

He gazed about him in wonder, almost like a child seeing something for the first time. A slight smile was on his face, and his eyes followed every creature their approach flushed from hiding. He frequently turned his face up toward the sun, closing his eyes and clearly enjoying the warmth.

She realized that she was grasping at straws, trying to find fault with him beyond his appearance.

Though his features were brutish, his face was completely open. Eafrida had no doubt that emotions could be easily read upon such a countenance, as clearly as if written in words. While a snarling grimace would likely find comfortable lodging on such a face, it seemed equally as accommodating to smiles.

Baan was so strange, such a puzzle. Eafrida inwardly cursed her tendency to pursue such mysteries as tenaciously as a hound on the scent.

As they walked, Aelfled kept up a continuous banter, telling Baan all the things she expected of him in his new role as her 'special friend.' Not the least of which was telling stories. Baan frowned.

"I do not know any stories," he said.

"Oh, but you _must_ know stories," Aelfled insisted. "You are an Easterling. Easterlings _always_ have stories. My favorite is about a mûmak. I don't even know what one _is_, but it is a good story. Do you know that one?"

Eafrida was startled by her sister's statement. Was _that_ why the little girl had no fear of this Orc? She thought him an _Easterling_? Well, Eafrida couldn't swear exactly what Baan _was_, but an Easterling he was _not_. Yet the expressiveness of his face inspired sympathy in her, where an eastern-born Orc never had. Admittedly, the latter sort of Orc had never shown an interest in polite conversation, either. Eafrida realized she never credited the creatures with the _ability_ to converse in any manner but crudely with much profanity, for that had always been her experience.

They tended not to ask politely when stealing goods and horses, nor did they apologize for wounding or slaying the Rohirrim.

Her mind was in turmoil over what she was doing now. Tame he seemed, but what would happen when he was brought among her folk? She worried her lip, imagining her grandfather's reaction. He would likely draw his sword and split the poor creature open without a thought...

Something struck her suddenly, and she stole another look at Baan's profile. His mind was a blank slate. All that he was had been erased. He must surely have known that they were enemies, Men and Orcs, yet he made no threatening move against her or Aelfled. Because _they_ had not threatened _him_. Was he reacting to the world in the way it acted upon him? If that was the case, would a violent response from her grandfather urge a like answer? Might he then recover his memories to the ruin of them all?

He seemed to be delicately balanced between knowing what he was and desperately denying it was so. The slightest prodding in one direction or the other could easily upset that balance, for good or ill. Yet his plight was pitiable regardless. A hair's breadth from violent revelation he might be, but it could not be overlooked that he was in this state because _he_ _did not wish to be what he was_. Perhaps in the absence of his fellows, far from those who commanded him, he was free to make a choice. He seemed to have chosen a path that was nothing short of admirable.

"You have _never_ seen one?"

Aelfled's voice was high-pitched with shock, and startled Eafrida into listening to the conversation the little girl was having with the Orc.

"I don't think so," he replied uncertainly.

"The Sweetsilk Man told me they were tall as the tallest trees," Aelfled said, eyes wide with delicious fear. "No man has _ever_ slain one. And the Men of Harad live on their backs in little houses."

Eafrida sighed and shook her head. "He did not say they _lived_ on the mûmakil, he said their archers sat in _seige towers_ atop their backs."

"Which look like little houses," Aelfled insisted haughtily. "Honestly, Baan, you have not seen much, have you?"

"I am not sure," he said ruefully. "I lost many days. I don't know how many. I might have seen one... I just don't know."

"_Really_ now," Aelfled began, and Eafrida cut her off with a look. The little girl clearly did not understand Baan's plight, that though he might _want_ to remember having seen such amazing things, he simply could not.

"As I recall," Eafrida said firmly, "the Sweetsilk Man is a drunkard and a liar. He likely saw his own mule laden with trade goods and mistook it." Glancing at Baan, she added in a slight undertone, "The mûmakil are used by the Haradrim away south. Our 'Easterling' visitors come from what was once Rhovannion to the east."

Aelfled's expression was comically exasperated, revealing her opinion that grown-ups were singularly dull-witted.

Baan chuckled at the little girl's look, but avoided Eafrida's gaze. It seemed whenever he looked in her eyes, strange feelings came to him. Some were simple and easily understood; he desired companionship above all. Being alone for all that time had been hard on him. He realized as he walked beside this female that he _needed_ to be among others, _her_ in particular; his temperament seemed to be calmer and less agitated now that he was with them. _Accepted_ by them.

But the rather annoyingly invasive desire to mate with her was also a strong presence. Associated with that desire was a thought... a _feeling_... perhaps a memory tightly coupled with his need that was ugly, painful, and humiliating. These things would be _her_ experience more than _his_. That understanding was enough to make him suppress the urge, no matter how strong.

As they neared the encampment, Eafrida stopped and turned to her sister. "Aelfled, run and fetch grandfather. And your mother, come to think of it." Glancing at Baan, she reluctantly added, "Tell him... to bring his sword."

The little girl gave her an odd look, then shrugged and took off. Baan tilted his head curiously.

"Why bring a sword?"

Swallowing, she tried to appear dignified and in control. "He will want to be cautious of you, Baan, for you are an... outsider. A man is bravest when he holds a sword, I have found."

He looked to his hip, then back at her. "I have no sword."

"I know you do not," she said quietly and with no little embarrassment. "I... do not think you will cause harm," she said softly, and was surprised that she actually meant it.

"I am one of you," Baan said, again looking as though he only said it to convince himself. "The good people do no harm."

He relaxed as he looked at her, and found himself drawing deep breaths of her scent. She did not smell simply of grass, as he had thought the good people would. Her scent made him think of wind in the grasses, of running beneath the sun, of laughter, of mating...

Blinking, he drew back and swiftly looked away.

Eafrida found herself able to breath once more, released now from his intense gaze. Why would looking into such fearsome eyes quicken her breath and tighten her stomach?

Thankfully, she saw that Alric and Eadgyd were approaching. Even at a distance, she could see their impatience with the impish little girl running at their side to keep up with the longer strides. And of course, Aelfled's mouth was in constant motion, chattering away, likely regaling them with as many arguments in favor of keeping her new friend as she had that motherless fox kit she found huddled in the brush the year before.

She could see the precise point at which Alric realized his granddaughter had not dragged home a wild animal _this_ time. His eyes widened with alarm and he drew his sword at the same time that he quickened his pace. Eadgyd pulled her daughter into a protective hug and stopped several yards away.

Suddenly panicking, Eafrida leaped forward to place herself between Baan and Alric. The older man was in a fury.

"What is _that_?" he roared, pointing his sword past Eafrida at Baan. "Step away now. What is it?"

Raising her hands in a warding gesture, Eafrida approached her grandfather. Lowering her voice so Baan wouldn't hear, she said quietly, "Please. Lower your sword. He has been injured, like Baelwine was years ago. He does not know who he is. He does not know where he came from. He does not know... _what_ he is."

Alric's gaze shifted from the Orc with surprise. He frowned at Eafrida.

"He does not know what he is," she repeated. "He thinks he is one of _us_."

"How can he think that?" Alric whispered fiercely. "Has he not seen his own face?"

Eafrida glanced back at Baan, looking as nervous as Deorwine did when he first presented his suit to her father... Shaking her head on the bizarre thought, she turned back to Alric. "He does not look at himself. I doubt he has seen his face, even in the water, or he would know the truth."

"Aelfled says he should be allowed to join us," Alric snarled. "He can_not_ be set loose among us. Perhaps he is not... as much an Orc as the filth from the Black Land, but he is Orc enough."

"There is Man within him as well," Eafrida pointed out.

"I do not even want to _imagine_ how that came to be," Alric grimaced.

"I think," Eafrida said as reasonably as she could, "the part of him that is a Man... I think it speaks most strongly to him now. He is far from those who would urge him to commit vile misdeeds. Perhaps... because _that_ part is influenced by that which is absent now, the _other_ part... will be influenced by _us_."

Alric snorted, unconvinced, and stepped around Eafrida. Though he did not raise his sword, he didn't sheathe it either. He eyed the Orc warily, scanning him up and down. Baan shifted nervously beneath the man's gaze, but neither turned away nor bristled. Alric could not believe what he was seeing.

There was no mistaking Baan's mixed race. Though Alric had never looked upon one of those rumored 'half-orcs' whispered about in the Westfold, he felt certain he was doing so now. The tales told of a fierce and bloodthirsty breed of Orc, merciless and tenacious, that walked straight as a Man and was unaffected by sunlight. The travelers who brought such fantasies with them implied the half-orcs were not a vile coupling of men with female Orcs, but quite the opposite. Regardless of whether the female was of the Race of Man or not, this creature seemed to prove the tales true.

"What are you called?" Alric asked softly, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head.

"Aelfled calls me Baan," he said, his deep, growling voice like the low rumble of far-off thunder.

"He does not know what he was called before," Eafrida supplied.

"Very well... Baan," Alric said. "You wish to join us, eh?"

"I am one of the good people," Baan said almost urgently. He wanted desperately for them to believe him. It was true, wasn't it? "One of _you_. I do not want... to be alone. _Please_."

Alric blinked with surprise at the Orc's tone and expression, as well as his words. _It is no wonder my granddaughters take pity upon this wretch_, he mused.

"I cannot make such a decision, for admitting an outsider to the group affects us all," he said. "I will call the Three into council, and we shall see what is decided." He glanced back at his daughter-in-law, hanging back at a safe distance holding Aelfled's hand. The little girl's eyes darted back and forth between Baan and Alric.

Sighing, Alric gestured for them all to follow him, and he led them into the encampment.

* * *

Baan sat outside the Tent of the Three, arms draped over his upraised knees. Eafrida sat nearby, fussing with her skirt. Little Aelfled had been spirited away from them above her protests and was likely in the family's shelter. He didn't know what to do or think. There were few people in the camp, though there were perhaps twenty shelters in clusters radiating from a central firepit. The shelters were fascinating to him; they were domed, circular buildings consisting of a wooden support frame covered in various hides. Baan wondered if they were as comfortable inside as they appeared outside, but perhaps his judgement was ill-informed. He was far too used to sleeping out of doors.

Glancing up at Eafrida, he wondered if he should ask. Well, there was no reason not to, he decided.

"Eafrida," he ventured, and she jumped when she heard her name. He smiled a little. "Eafrida. What do you sleep on?"

She was rather taken aback by the question, and felt her cheeks heat up.

"What... do you mean, Baan?" she asked nervously.

He pointed at the nearest house. "On the outside, they look... " He gestured helplessly. "Like home."

"Do... your folk build such things?" she asked carefully, hoping not to dislodge an unpleasant memory.

Baan's forehead furrowed in deep concentration. "I do not think so," he finally said.

"Well, inside are our sleeping pallets," she explained. "They are difficult to come by. Mine and Aelfled's were made from Hengist's family's sheep herd. The wool, you see. We spin it for yarn most of the time, but when it is not needed for such, we make mattresses and pillows from it." Smiling, she added, "Of course, my royal sister has a pillow made from chicken feathers. She rarely misses an opportunity to brag of it."

His smile broadened, looking at her. So close, she was able to see his teeth more clearly as his lips parted. She stiffened with alarm for a moment. His teeth were pointed and sharp, and the lower jaw bore especially long canines that stood perhaps a half inch taller than their fellows. It was a wonder they did not peek from between his lips.

From inside the tent, they heard raised voices. Because they spoke their native tongue, Eafrida understood a few of the muffled words and cringed slightly. She met Baan's worried look and tried to smile encouragingly.

"That was Sighard," she told him. "He is rather hot-headed. I am certain grandfather will make him see reason."

"I do not want to cause trouble," Baan said, then he sagged and bowed his head. "But I do not wish to be alone."

"I understand," Eafrida replied gently. "Hengist is a reasonable fellow. You will win him over far more easily. Be patient. Grandfather will have you present yourself soon, and... well, they will see you mean no harm."

He met her gaze briefly, then flicked his eyes about the encampment. There were even fewer folk about than before; as soon as Alric brought him into the circle, children were urged into hiding. The women of the group stood stoney vigil outside their shelters, arms defiantly folded over chests, hard glowering stares leveled at Baan and haunting his every step...

It was enough to make one doubt oneself.

Soon enough, the thick rug serving as a door to the tent was shoved aside.

"Come inside, if you please," Alric said peremptorily. "You as well, Eafrida." Nervous, the Orc and the woman entered the Tent of the Three.


	8. Trial

**Trial**

When Hengist and Sighard passed the Orc by the entrance to the tent, their brows furrowed and eyes narrowed. Sighard curled his lips in disgust. They now sat in the center of the shelter reserved solely for official meetings and glowered at Alric. He didn't quite know how to begin.

"I trust this is some sort of joke," Hengist said dryly, finally breaking the silence. He stroked his long graying beard.

"Would that it were," Alric sighed.

"What...," Sighard began, then faltered. "What _is_ it? The... thing _looks_ Orcish, yet..." At a loss, he just shook his head in bafflement.

"I know," Alric nodded. "My granddaughters found it... him. Wandering about the fens alone."

Sighard snorted. His expression told them all that the limit of his humor had been reached. "When are such beasts _ever_ alone? There will be others, mark you. Likely he is a spy or scout. There can be only one reason for the darkness blotting out the sky in the direction of the Black Land. Hour by hour, it comes closer. And so soon after our men were called away to war." He waved his hand dismissively, as if the evidence were irrefutable. "He is but the first of many."

"I drew sword on him, and he did nothing. He did not even raise a hand to defend himself. I sense no malice in him," Alric stated firmly.

"That cannot be so," Sighard scoffed.

"Do you doubt my word?" Alric asked, arching his brow.

Shifting slightly, Sighard ground his jaw. "No. I doubt _his_. If an attack is coming, he will know of it. I say we make him talk. Make him tell us all he knows."

Alric and Hengist both stared hard at Sighard. "And if he says nothing? If he _knows _nothing? Are you saying we should torture him?" Alric questioned.

"If that is what it takes," Sighard snarled, holding his head up higher. "We are vulnerable here, with so many gone. I want to know what is to come, so that we may prepare ourselves."

"I understand your concerns," Alric said carefully. "They are mine as well. But I do not think he can tell us such things. He remembers _nothing_."

Sighard rolled his eyes heavenward. "He remembers. He lies to you. They are, all of them, liars."

"You may have a different opinion when you meet him," Alric said stiffly. _"I've_ no doubt he tells the truth about _that_, at least."

"What purpose is served by bringing him here?" Hengist asked.

"My reasons are these: If he _does_ pose a threat, it would ease _my_ mind to keep him where he can be watched. However, I am not convinced that he _is_. Dangerous, perhaps. He is an Orc, after all, though of a breed we have not seen. I have heard about some like him plaguing the Westfold. But _he_ is not in the Westfold. He is _here_, and I believe he is truly alone."

"Why would he be _here_ if his fellows are in the Westfold?" Sighard pressed.

"That I do not know, nor am I likely to learn," Alric replied. "He suffers a similar injury to that which rendered Baelwine unable to recall his own family. Perhaps he was the only one to survive a battle not far from here. I have not asked yet. There is also the matter of our needs, now that the younger men have all departed. A strong back should not be turned away, and as long as he believes himself one of us..."

"One of _us_?" Sighard exploded. "Is he blind as well as dull-witted? He is an _Orc_. He can never be 'one of us.' What madness afflicts him that he believes otherwise?"

"He is not mad," Alric said patiently. "Nor is he dull-witted. I would say, in his present state, he poses little threat to us. He believes himself a Man, not an Orc."

"He will not always be so forgetful," Sighard snapped. "Recall Baelwine's reclamation. He carried on for months without so much as a spark of recollection for his own wife, until one day he smelled a particular spring flower and all his memories returned." Gesturing toward the tent entrance, he added, "With war coming, there is every chance a reminder will find its way to our camp, and then he will join them in cutting our throats and savaging our daughters." Just the thought made Sighard shudder and look away.

"Or," Hengist said thoughtfully, "he might take our side." The other two elders stared at him. He shrugged. "It is possible. A wild animal may be tamed with kindness. He thinks himself a Man; treat him as such, and should he recall what he is, perhaps he will remember it."

"He is an _Orc_," Sighard repeated angrily. "It is in their nature to be cruel and deceitful."

"Is it?" Hengist challenged, arching his brow. "Two maids of our camp came upon him in the wilds and were moved to bring him here. At the very least, your Eafrida knows well what an Orc looks like. Even someone like _him_ bears enough resemblance to the Nameless Enemy's minions that a shieldmaiden of Rohan would be at the least cautious. Words alone cannot have swayed her."

"They did not," Alric agreed.

"And you say the little one, Aelfled, found him first," Hengist continued mildly, and Alric nodded. "Found him, spoke with him, and then went _back_ to see him. Were he cruel... _by nature_... would he not have given the child reason _not_ to return?"

"She likely would not have returned to _us_," Sighard grumbled. "So you will embrace this creature, then? Invite him into our camp, allow him free rein to come and go as it pleases him? What is next? Shall he marry one of our daughters as well?"

"Be serious," Alric growled. "I said nothing of 'embracing' him, nor of wedding him to anyone. Such fears are ludicrous. I wished only to discuss the option of taking him in, and _only_ for as long as he remains civil."

"Civil," Sighard mocked. "A civil Orc. Shall I next see a kindly leopard or a fish that walks on land?"

"If this Orc is as calm as you say he is," Hengist chuckled, "I will keep my eyes open for the other two from now on."

"Be that as it may," Sighard said, casting a withering look at Hengist, "perhaps he did nothing to alarm the girls. But I can see by your look that he has not been truthful."

Alric nodded. "There is no denying that he lies. But I am in agreement with my granddaughter. He lies to none but himself." At their bewildered looks, he elaborated. "I believe he knows full well what he is. He has clearly chosen _not_ to be so. I say we encourage him on this path, not punish him for choosing it."

"I have a daughter in this camp," Sighard growled hotly. "The wives of my sons. _My_ wife. _They_ have a daughter and sons too young for war. You would have me cast my vote in favor of setting a rapacious _beast_ loose among them?" he roared.

"I would have you reserve your judgment until you have heard him speak," Alric said sternly. "I ask no more of you than that."

"Listen to him speak?" Sighard barked. "My ears shall burn from the crude words that will pass his lips!"

Hengist chuckled. "I too have daughters and grandchildren, but _my_ daughters are shieldmaidens of Rohan. They bear arms even when the men are still among us. They have fought Orcs and lived to boast of it. If this Orc shows a hint of mischief, he shall have their swords in his heart before he has a chance to lay hands on anyone."

Bristling at the veiled insult, Sighard crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. "My daughters are shieldmaidens as well. They will not allow the Orc to do harm either."

"Then we are in agreement," Alric said, doing his best to mask his relief. That the debate had reached a satisfactory conclusion before sundown was a rare blessing. "He will come before you and you will hear him speak. Then we will reconvene on the morrow and decide his fate. I would suggest we refrain from calling him 'Orc' to his face."

Sighard growled, "He is an _Orc_, so we shall call him _Orc_. You are being ridiculous..."

"He does not _want_ to be an Orc," Alric snapped.

"What he wants and what he is are two different things," Sighard retorted.

"Not to _him_," Alric insisted. "I think he would be most aggrieved by such accusations, and may react violently."

"Your argument is weakening, old man," Sighard said. "All one has to do is whisper 'Orc' in his ear and he will tear them to pieces? And you wish me to vote in his favor?" He laughed mockingly and shook his head.

"I said nothing of the sort," Alric replied. "I do not believe he wishes to be an Orc, and so he has convinced himself that he _isn't_. Perhaps it would be _prudent_ not to prove him wrong."

"I agree," Hengist interjected. "Baelwine, as you know, is one of my sons-in-law. His injury changed him; his emotions were far closer to the surface, and he wept often. He was also much quicker to anger, for he was frustrated by the loss of his memories."

"Indeed," Alric nodded. "I see the same sort of storm in this Orc's eyes. We should not provoke him with truths he is ill-prepared to accept."

"Yes, but what if his memory comes _back_?" Sighard insisted. "And he knows what he has done, what he _is_?"

"He is unarmed," Alric pointed out, "he is alone, and he is surrounded by _us_. My own granddaughter, Eafrida, would have no difficulty slaying him if he became a threat."

Hengist nodded. "No true shieldmaiden of Rohan would."

* * *

Baan entered the tent in Alric's wake, Eafrida behind him. The other two men stood in the center, arms folded over their chests. Though there were subtle differences in their faces and clothing, they both looked a good deal like Alric; stern of face, with long wavy beards silvering from age. Their hair was similarly poised between fully white and the gold of their youth. Years of care and hard work in the sun lined their faces.

_They will decide whether I live or die_, he realized. It wasn't clear where the surety came from, but it was strong. At least Eafrida was at his side. He could accept it, if hers were the last face he saw.

"Baan, you stand before the Three," Alric said solemnly, and Baan's eyes darted to his face. "You will be asked questions, to learn your intent and assess your worth. You must answer _truthfully_. Any attempt to deceive us will not be met favorably. Do you understand?"

Swallowing hard, Baan nodded. "I understand."

The two others exchanged suprised looks, but he had no idea why.

"Sit," Alric said, gesturing to a pallet of furs in front of Baan. The Orc cautiously sat, clearly unsure if he was doing it right. Eafrida knelt on a similar pallet nearby, keeping Baan and the elders in her sight.

The worry that they might judge him unfit to live furrowed her brow and set her to chewing her lip.

"Alric says you are called Baan," Sighard said loftily.

Baan nodded. "Aelfled gave it. I could remember no other."

Once again taken aback not only by the Orc's calm demeanor, but his articulate and well-mannered delivery, Sighard huffed to mask his surprise. "Tell me... Baan. The truth, now. What is the first thing you remember?"

Wracking his brain, Baan forced himself to think back to that moment. It was not a comfortable memory, and he had shied away from it for some time. "There were... bad people. Dead. Many of them. All around me." He realized his breath had quickened as some of the fear and anxiety of that day returned, and he tried to calm himself.

"Bad people," Hengist repeated thoughtfully. "Tell me of the bad people. What were they like?"

Struggling to swallow, Baan trembled and could not meet this man's gaze. "They were... ugly. Angry. Hated. They did bad things," he said, his voice dropping to nearly a whisper as he became intensely focused on describing the bad people. "Many... bad things. Deserved what they got. Shoulda got worse. Fucking bastards, they were."

Eafrida flinched. She had not heard him speak like this before, and it worried her.

The Orc's statements seemed to concern the elders as well. Even Alric's brow was furrowed.

"I see," Sighard replied awkwardly. "Where did this... happen? Do you recall?"

Baan was still fighting against the urge to flee from such questions and couldn't think straight. But even if he _could_, he was fairly certain no place names would come to mind. After a few false starts, he finally said, "Back down this river to where it becomes many and feeds the great river. Follow the great river, walking against the current. There is a waterfall there. So big and loud... Stairs come down from a high place. That is where I came from. The high place. I remember nothing before."

Sighard nodded, then shared another shocked look with Hengist. Neither man could boast of ever conversing with an Orc before this moment, yet both would swear to being taken completely off-guard by Baan's articulate grasp of the Common tongue.

With the possible exception of a few moments earlier when he seemed to forget himself. Or perhaps _remember_ himself.

"I know the place you speak of," Hengist said. "The falls are called Rauros, and the great river is Anduin. The... bad people were slain at Parth Galen, I believe, for that is on the western shore."

"I do not know what it is called," Baan said quietly.

"Where are you bound, eh?" Sighard said. "It seems to me you should be going east, not west." Alric shot him a warning look, which Sighard pointedly ignored.

Baan was oblivious to their glares, and tried to answer the question. "I look for what... I think... is home. My feet guide me to the setting sun. It _feels_ like the right direction. I do not know why."

"Perhaps the... _bounty_ of the Westfold calls you," Sighard snapped sarcastically.

"If you cannot still your tongue, you will no longer be allowed a vote!" Alric warned, his patience worn thin. Sighard immediately shut his mouth. He knew from long experience that the eldest of them was not one to deliver idle threats.

"Now, Baan," Alric said with an exasperated sigh, "tell us of the good people. The ones you seek."

"The good people," Baan replied, and a slight smile lifted one corner of his mouth. "_You_ are the good people. You do no harm. You do not cause pain. You... are _good_. You destroy what is bad."

"What of the bad people? What are they like?" Alric asked.

His face contorted in a scowl. "They are animals. They are foul. They cause pain, then they laugh. They make others scream and weep; this amuses them. They destroy what is good, and especially what is beautiful." Baan couldn't help it. His eyes darted almost of their own accord to gaze upon Eafrida. It was difficult looking away from her reddening face.

Alric was neither blind nor stupid, and stiffened with alarm. No lustful leer, perhaps, but the Orc most assuredly looked upon his eldest granddaughter with the hungry gaze of an admirer.


	9. Opinions

**Opinions**

The meeting ended after another hour of probing questions and frustrated declarations of 'I do not know.' Baan was more weary than he could remember ever being, and afraid the elders were not satisfied with his answers. They even interrogated Eafrida, urging her to describe his manner with her and her sister.

They seemed very concerned about how he acted, what he said, what the female _felt_ when confronting him. It wasn't clear to Baan why this was so, but he guessed it was because he was a stranger. They called him 'outsider,' not... anything else. He reasoned that if he followed their lead, he would no longer cause them to be nervous, and perhaps they might accept him.

It was terribly important now that they accept him.

When they all left the tent and went their separate ways, Alric guided him toward another shelter. The sun had gone down, and the folk of the camp had retired for the night. Baan's gaze locked on Eafrida, and he felt a slight tremor of longing, watching her enter a different shelter than the one Alric was heading for.

"Eafrida sleeps in her own place?" he asked, and Alric gave him a slightly hostile look.

"Never you mind what the girl does," he snapped, gesturing the Orc into his shelter. "She is not your concern."

The inside of Alric's shelter was comfortable and warm. Baan's eyes scanned the contents, noting bundles of hides and various tools he did not recognize. A large pallet of furs lay in one corner. There were no other exits than the one he'd walked through. This made Baan nervous, which in itself caused him to question himself. Why should he need more than one doorway? It made no sense.

Even as the thought confounded him, he realized Alric was standing directly in front of him with a stern look on his face. He started with surprise.

"I have seen your eyes on my granddaughter," he hissed. "Point them elsewhere."

Baan stammered, "Guh-grand-..."

"Eafrida," Alric snapped. "She is the child of my son. You look at her in a way I do not like. I do not want her feeling threatened by you, so you will _stop_. Do I make myself clear?"

He should have known the urges were bad, Baan thought. They caused him to harm himself; they would likely make him hurt her as well. Nodding, he said, "I will stop looking at her."

Somewhat mollified, Alric released some of his tension. "You will sleep here tonight. If the elders vote in favor of letting you join us, you may stay here then, as well. What... well, perhaps you do not know. No matter. Answers will never be known if questions are not asked. What skills do you have?"

Baan shrugged. "I try to fish, but the tall birds and the smooth swimmers are much better. I try to swim, but I must breathe, and so I cannot stay long. I try to hunt, but most animals smell me coming. They do not _hear_ me, though." He grinned, rather proud of that fact at least.

Blinking at the display of the Orc's sharp, brutish teeth, Alric shook himself. "Is that so? Perhaps you are suited to hunting and fishing, then. I do not think you would do well on your own with the horses."

"Horses?" Baan said. "What are they?"

"Very tall animals," Alric replied, and began preparing a pallet for Baan on the far side of the shelter from his own. Calm and civil the Orc may be, but Alric was no fool. He took several bundles and knelt to unroll them into a reasonably thick mattress.

"Like milady's mûmakil?" Baan asked, arching an eyebrow.

Alric chuckled. "No, not near as tall as that. So Aelfled has schooled you in 'proper' form, eh?"

"Did I not say it right?" Baan said worriedly.

Shaking his head, Alric smiled. The Orc was certainly unsure of nearly everything, but he supposed that was understandable. He wished to act like one of the good people, yet only knew how the bad people behaved. It must be a great struggle for him to do one thing when his instincts told him another.

"You do not offend," Alric assured him. "Aelfled has similarly put her brother up to such nonsense, treating her like royalty. You are no different." He paused for a moment, and wondered at what he just said. Glancing up at the Orc, he tried to see him as Aelfled must see him; simply a lost man in need of friendship. It was difficult to ignore the brutal lines of his face, the predator's teeth, the rough hide... But he could _almost_ see past them. Perhaps in another day or two, if Baan continued to be this benign creature now standing in his tent, Alric might see him as something else.

* * *

Hengist sat in his shelter with his wife, mulling over what he saw in the Tent of the Three as she fussed with their bedding.

"It makes me nervous," Cynwise said quietly. She'd fluffed the same pillow three or four times now without realizing it.

"Understandable," he allowed, nodding absently.

"Such a creature in our midst," she added. "We have endeavored to keep their like _out_. Now you must vote to let one _in_?"

"You did not see him," Hengist said mildly. "Were he one of the Orcs we have encountered before, I would agree with you. Those of the Black Land have given us no reason to think of them as anything but beasts. In _this_ Orc, however, I see something else."

"What may that be?" she asked skeptically.

"Well, I have never felt moved to suggest gentle treatment with regards to his kind before," he pointed out. "Yet his... dare I call it _innocence_? His countenance begs a fresh look at these creatures. Alric said he sensed no malice in the Orc. I _saw_ none."

"Could he have deceived..."

"Nay," Hengist said, shaking his head. "Not so well, for so long. We asked him many questions. Most he had no answer to. He grew frustrated... with _himself_... for his ignorance. He did not lash out at _us_ in word or deed."

"Still, he is an _Orc_. It is their nature..."

"I disagree," Hengist interrupted. "I watched him carefully as he spoke with us. I noted what he was looking at and how he looked at it. Apart from a trifle too much interest in Eafrida, which is Alric's issue to contend with, he did not strike me as deceitful."

"Are you saying that all we have known of Orcs..."

"No, not _all_ we have known, nor do I imply his behavior should dictate how we treat with Orcs in the future," Hengist reasoned. "I simply say that _this_ Orc... or whatever he truly is... stands alone. He is an individual and should not be condemned for the deeds of his fellows if _he_ does not embrace such ways. It might be the nature of Orcs to be cruel, but I do not believe such a thing is in _Baan's_ nature. It would be unfair to treat him as if it was, especially when he has given every impression that it isn't."

"I suppose you have a point," Cynwise allowed. "I do not think I can trust as easily as you, even if I _were_ to meet him myself."

Hengist laughed. "Oh, I do not trust him. Not by a long mile. Let us say that I give him a chance to _earn_ my trust. Were he an Orc like those we have met before, and approached us as they always have, I would not grant him such a boon."

* * *

"They shall both outvote me, mark you," Sighard grumbled to his wife as he paced the floor of his own shelter. Beornwyn sat apart so not to obstruct his path, and perched on the edge of a camp stool, wringing her hands. "We shall have an Orc among us by nightfall tomorrow. Nay, we have one _now_, for he beds down in Alric's hut as we speak!"

"Béma spare us!" she cried, her wide eyes fixed fearfully on her husband.

"Likely find the old man butchered come morning," he snarled under his breath. "And that _beast_ sucking the marrow from his bones." His wife covered her mouth swiftly and tried not to vomit at the image.

"Chasing after the children," Sighard went on. "Lusting after the women."

Her breathing quickened as her fear mounted. Sighard was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to spare worry over her.

"You should carry your sword at all times," he advised. "Keep it loose in the scabbard even in the safety of the camp. Alric and Hengist in their 'wisdom' will see to it that the camp is no longer safe."

"Yes, husband," she breathed. Though her courage found her when it was needed, it was often lost to her when Sighard was present. He had, for so many years, been her champion. Beornwyn hadn't _needed_ her own courage when he had so much to spare. Because of this lack, there was no one whose words could frighten her more than his.

"The decision is at first light," he informed her. "Assuming the beast does nothing to prevent it, such as sneaking out and assaulting that Eafrida girl who found him. _I_ saw the look he gave her. Likely plotting how he may spirit her away long enough for..."

"Sighard!" his wife cried.

"Forgive me," he said, only slightly chagrined. "Few enough of us remember your cousin all those years ago..."

"I do not wish to remember her now," she said stiffly and looked away.

"It is a great concern," he insisted. "They did not wish to be reminded, either. I think I shall bring it up tomorrow, lest they make a foolish decision without thought."

* * *

"They'll make him go away!" Aelfled wailed in her mother's arms. "It is not _his_ fault he's ugly!" Eafrida had never seen the girl so distraught. Eadgyd rocked her and spoke soothing words, but seemed otherwise at a loss.

"Come now, Aelfled," her sister pleaded. "He is an outsider. The Three must decide for Baan as they did when Deorwine's family wished to join us. They will treat him fairly; you _know_ they will. Regardless of what he looks like."

"They_ won't_," she insisted. "They don't like _me_. They'll send him away because _I_ like him. He's _my_ Baan!"

"Dearest," Eadgyd admonished gently, "that is not true. Your grandfather loves you very much. Hengist has never voiced a low opinion of you."

"He thinks you are quite the lady," Eafrida offered encouragingly.

"Sighard doesn't like me," Aelfled pointed out.

Eafrida rolled her eyes. "Sighard is Ebba's grandfather. I think nothing more needs to be said."

"Shame on you," Eadgyd said without conviction, but with some struggle to hide her smile. "They will not make a poor decision, Aelfled dear. The Three must take all of our lives into account. If they feel Baan poses a threat, they will naturally send him away."

"Did he... did he backtalk?" Aelfled sniffled, her large wet eyes fixed on her sister.

"No," Eafrida said, smiling a little. "He was a gentleman. You taught him well." Aelfled relaxed visibly.

"Off to bed with you," Eadgyd said, taking advantage of the girl's calm. "You have had a busy day."

The little girl slumped off to her pallet and snuggled in amongst the furs and blankets. She even allowed Eafrida to tuck her in. While her sister fussed, a mischievous gleam shown in Aelfled's eyes.

"I hope he stays with us," she whispered, and Eafrida smiled. "I think he is nice. He is ever so lonely. Perhaps you should kiss him. Just to see what it is like."

Eafrida's heart stopped for a moment, she was so shocked. Aelfled grinned at her and settled in, quite satisfied that she had surprised her sister so thoroughly.

"_Aelfled_," Eadgyd hissed. "What possessed you to say _that_?" As usual, the little girl's 'whispers' could be heard by any within shouting distance.

Pouting, Aelfled pretended to already be asleep. Eafrida left her and went to sit by Eadgyd.

"What on earth..." the older woman began, but Eafrida held up a hand, eying her sister suspiciously.

"I'm of a mind to take a little walk, Eadgyd," she said conversationally. "Would you join me?"

"Certainly," Eadgyd replied, and followed her out.

When they were a fair distance from the shelter, Eadgyd stopped. "Tell me what is going on."

Feeling caught in a trap, Eafrida sighed. It was not like she was a _very_ young child, after all. "I allowed Deorwine to kiss me," she said. "Aelfled saw, and is _stricken_ with shock that I do not now wish to marry him."

Eadgyd bowed her head to hide her amusement. "That child... so full of fancy." Looking up, she shook her head. "He will be terribly disappointed when he returns."

Worry creased Eafrida's forehead. "I know. Part of me hopes he does not come back. I do not wish to hurt him. Had he not been called to war, I would have... eventually... told him." She briefly covered her face with her hands, then looked pleadingly at Eadgyd. "I do _not_ hope he is slain, I promise you that. I am just so... ashamed that I lacked the courage..."

"It is all right, I do not think that of you. I am certain he will come back; they will _all_ come back," Eadgyd said with false certainty. "You will find a way to ease him into understanding the truth."

"I hope so."

"What worries me is that Aelfled seems to want you to look upon this... Baan... with favor," Eadgyd said carefully, her distaste difficult to hide. "She does not seem to understand..."

"She _doesn't_," Eafrida said urgently. "Nor should she be made aware. The girl has no secrets, so neither does anyone who confides in her. Grandfather recommended we not call Baan 'Orc.' He suspects Baan will not take it well, and it is not possible to predict how he may react. She must not be told," she repeated.

"But you _know_ how she is," Eadgyd said. "She has evidently gotten it into her head that Baan is a good match for you. She must be made to understand _at least_ that such a thing is... well... it cannot happen," she concluded awkwardly.

"No, it can't," Eafrida said quietly, her thoughts beginning to roam. Eadgyd watched the girl's features soften; could nearly see the wheels turning.

"Eafrida," she said carefully, "what... do you think of him?"

Startled from her reverie, she shook her head. "He is... not what I expected."

"Are you not... repelled by him?" she asked quietly.

Eafrida's eyes twitched and she swallowed hard, but she could not seem to speak.

"I see," Eadgyd said with alarm.


	10. Acceptance

**Acceptance**

Alric watched the Orc carefully the following morning, for the night had not been uneventful. Baan appeared to be plagued with night terrors. Though he was paralyzed in his sleep, the man worried that mobility might endanger the Orc. Escape from whatever he was seeing seemed to be the chief worry in these nightmares. Alric had never seen such a bad case, and was unsure what to make of it.

"Please stay here, Baan," he said when the Orc made to rise from his pallet. "I will go to the other elders and we will make our decision. It would be best if... if you remained here."

Shrugging, Baan got up and stretched. Lying upon furs had been a good deal more comfortable than the hard ground. Though his sleep had been troubled by the terrible things he could never remember on waking, he could see the dim light of dawn peeking around the rug hung as a door, and felt much better.

Nodding his farewell, Alric left the shelter. It amazed him that he had no worries that the Orc would disobey and leave. There was a childlike innocence about Baan that he found rather incongruous with how old the Orc appeared to be. It was difficult to assess Baan's age, given the scarring upon his face and the _awareness_ in his eyes. The Orc did not have the eyes of a youth, that much was certain. He had eyes that had borne witness to many things. Likely horrible things. Yet still, he seemed... young.

As he neared the Tent of the Three, Alric realized that causing harm simply wasn't Baan's _way_. It was not in his nature. If it were, would he not have hurt Aelfled the moment he saw her, as any other Orc would? He seemed to be reacting to the world in response to how it acted upon him, very much as a child would. Like a child, Baan trusted first; he assumed the folk of the encampment were 'good people' and would not harm him, so he did not come to them with ill intent. Very like how Aelfled approached _him_.

Baan clearly wanted to be accepted by them, who he considered the 'good people,' not reviled as the 'bad people' were.

By the time Alric reached his destination, he was fully confident in Baan's integrity and had no misgivings left regarding the safety of the encampment where the Orc was concerned. Even the possibility that Baan had taken a liking to Eafrida did not seem nearly as threatening as before. He told the Orc the girl was out of bounds, and received no argument, merely acceptance. No more needed to be said.

Sighard, as expected, affected great surprise that Alric had lived through the night with an Orc in such close quarters.

"I confess myself shocked that you draw breath this morning, Alric," Sighard smirked. "Were you obliged to slay the beast in the night, and so this conversation is no longer required?"

"Hardly," Alric replied witheringly. "I wish to get on with the day, and not spend it closeted with you. Speak your mind, and be quick."

"I have given it thought," Hengist interjected. From long association, he knew to get his words in ahead of Sighard or they would never be heard. "Your... survival of the night," he said, ducking his head a moment to cover his mirth at Sighard's expense, "does indeed strengthen my opinion. I vote yay. He may join us, on condition that he be watched. Under no circumstance should he be allowed time alone with any of the women. For their own safety, here and with the herds, I believe it would be prudent if they worked in pairs or more. All who know how to use them should bear arms, and I speak this not simply because of Baan's presence. I looked to the southeast this morning and the darkness rising from the Black Land has gotten much closer. I believe the Nameless One has sent forth his armies, and though Gondor by its proximity is likely the first target, we shan't be long behind. There is also the matter of Cair Andros; it has been overrun before."

"Agreed," Alric replied grimly. "Sighard?"

Taking a deep breath, Sighard said, "I was reminded last eve of what became of Beornwyn's cousin, Achae. I assume her fate is well-remembered?" He arched an eyebrow.

The other elders winced. Perhaps it was nearly twenty years ago, but they could not forget the bands of Orcs that roamed unchecked in the border region of the Emyn Muil to the northeast. Skirmishes there had been costly, and frequent forays into the plainsland left no family untouched. Though few women were slain, a few wished they had been. Achae was so aggrieved by her brief captivity that she took her own life rather than live on with the horrific memories. In the end, the Marshall of the Mark, Éomund, led his _é__ored_ against the Orcs to their ruin, yet Éomund himself was slain in the battle.

Hengist had ridden with that _é__ored_, and only now that the events of his lord's death were recalled did he remember that the area in which Baan was injured was the same. But Baan was not like those Orcs of long ago. Neither of his fellow elders knew this better than he.

"As it should have been yesterday," Sighard said with satisfaction. "Must we once again hear the weeping of the women and the screams of the children? Is _that_ what you require to see reason?"

"And do you require a _second_ interview with Baan before _you_ see it?" Alric retorted. "I promise you, if we treat him with aggression, he _shall_ respond in kind. Yet if we do _not_, he will remain as he is. As any man would!"

"He is no man!" Sighard roared.

"He is man enough!" Alric barked.

"Let him alone with _your_ granddaughter, then!" Sighard bellowed. "Do you trust him enough for _that_?"

Though furious, Alric couldn't answer. Perhaps there were still lingering doubts...

"As I thought...," Sighard sneered.

"You do not judge a man so harshly without cause," Hengist said pointedly, unmoved by Sighard's posturing. "I have seen you laugh quite comfortably with the Easterlings who come to barter goods. Are you not aware that their folk are at _war_ with Rohan; indeed, with Gondor as well? Do you not recall the many atrocities visited upon us here in the Eastemnet by their like? How many of Rohan's daughters have been brutalized in the wake of their _countless_ attacks over _thousands_ of years? Yet you stand by and allow your _wife_ to haggle over silks with a man who's father's father likely _raped and murdered_ his way across the Eastemnet."

Taken aback, Sighard's mouth opened and closed rapidly like a fish gasping for breath, yet no sound came out.

"As _I_ thought," Hengist smirked, nodding. "You see the Easterling merchant as an individual, not one to be condemned for what his folk have done. Likely you do not extend the same courtesy to Baan because he is an Orc and unworthy of such consideration. All evidence to the contrary."

"I believe further debate is unnecessary," Alric said stiffly, glowering at Sighard. "Voice your vote, yay or nay."

"Do you even need to ask?" Sighard snapped, recovering himself. "_Nay_."

"I say yay," Alric growled. "You are outvoted. Baan may stay."

"The vote should be unanimous," Sighard protested. Hengist chuckled, earning a glare from the disgruntled man.

"The decisions of the Three have ever been by majority," Hengist laughed. "We will not change the rules to assuage your bruised pride. You have lost, Sighard. Lick your wounds and slink away."

"Hengist," Alric admonished. "It is decided. Baan will stay in my shelter for the time being. When the men return, we shall see..."

"I will _tell_ you what you will see!" Sighard exploded. "You will see a dozen weary, battle-worn men coming home to hearth and wife only to be confronted by the very thing they fought in Gondor! And their folk _embracing_ the beast! I'll wager this _Baan_ will not live five heartbeats once they see him."

"We will face that when it comes," Alric replied, though a new worry entered his mind. For once, Sighard presented a true dilemma, something Alric had failed to see. What _would_ his son say? How would he react, seeing the enemy he thought destroyed ensconced within his own family?

Setting aside such a worry for now, the elders at least found agreement among themselves that the children should be advised against calling Baan an Orc. In fact, they should simply be told he was an exceptionally unattractive Easterling and leave it at that. It was likely Aelfled had already spread among her peers what she assumed were his origins.

The elders parted, each to his own family's section of the encampment, to address his kin on the matter of Baan, and what protocol was necessary in dealing with the 'Easterling.'

* * *

After Alric left, Baan occupied himself in the man's shelter by examining all of the fascinating objects. There were snares of varying styles and purposes, constructed of materials easily attained in the grasslands. Nearly all of them incorporated a loop of thin rope-like weave that on closer examination he determined was braided grass.

Turning one over and over in his hands, he noted the strength of the braid and the manner in which the snare was likely set. A slight smile came to him, remembering those elusive smooth-swimmers and their sweet meat...

The rug covering the doorway suddenly moved aside, admitting Eafrida with a basket of bread. She started, seeing Baan there alone. They stared at each other awkwardly for several moments before he remembered being told not to look at her. He tore his gaze away and fixed it on the floor.

"I... thought I might catch Alric before he left," Eafrida murmured uncertainly. "I made bread."

"He... left," Baan told the intricately-patterned rug, dusty from many feet, that covered the ground.

"I suppose he did," she replied. "Would you... care for some... bread?" she asked.

Not trusting himself to speak, Baan swallowed hard and nodded.

"Very well, then," Eafrida said. "Sit, and we shall break our fast together."

Had Eadgyd not said anything to her the night before, Eafrida felt certain she would not be in such a fluttery state now. She'd been forced to admit he intrigued her; it was as much as she was willing to confess without lying outright. Sitting with him now, she still could not be sure she would have answered Eadgyd's question any differently.

_If you are not repelled, what then?_

_I am simply... curious._

"Tell me, Baan," Eafrida said to break the silence stretching between them. In truth, though, quietly sitting with him was not nearly as awkward as the same with Deorwine. "What sorts of things did you do on the river? Your days must have been dreadfully dull with no one to talk to."

Baan chewed a mouthful of bread thoughtfully, and glanced up to briefly meet her eyes. They were dark blue, he noted. "Swimming, mostly."

"Do you swim well?" she asked.

Shrugging, he chuckled. "I was not made like the smooth swimmers. They are much better."

Frowning, she said, "Smooth swimmers? What are they?"

"I do not know. They have long bodies and tails. Sleek brown fur. Whiskers. Swim on their backs and eat sometimes."

"Oh! You speak of _otters_!" Eafrida cried with recognition. "Yes, they are _most_ accomplished. I enjoy swimming myself, though I have never tried to swim like an otter. Perhaps you could show..." Suddenly embarrassed, she faltered and looked away. She and her friends often swam in the shallows, very often unclothed for bathing. Her cheeks reddened, thinking of him seeing her in such a state.

To her shock, a spark of longing flashed, and the unexpected image of herself in Baan's embrace, waist deep in the shallows, _quite naked_, appeared then was suppressed quickly. She fixed a wide-eyed stare on the floor, wondering where in the world such thoughts were coming from.

She only saw him in such a state for a _moment_. She looked _away_... Her blush darkened as she admitted to herself that no, she did _not_ look away. Perhaps because she did not avert her eyes as would have been proper, the memory of him refreshed itself often, and seemingly at random, as it did now.

Once more, the rug gave way to someone entering the shelter, this time Alric. He started with surprise, seeing Baan and Eafrida seated in the middle of his shelter, but recovered.

"You have made bread?" he asked stiffly. Baan had a confused look on his face, and kept looking at Eafrida in spite of being advised not to.

"Yes, grandfather," Eafrida said nervously as she rose and offered the basket to him. "We were just sampling it."

"Of course," he said, eying them both. Eafrida's cheeks were bright red; he wondered if Baan made an unwelcome statement or perhaps a physical advance? "Are you... well?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yes," she said too quickly. "Most... assuredly."

"Come outside for a moment," he said sternly. Casting a narrow-eyed look at Baan, he added, "Stay here. I shall be back shortly." Baan nodded, still frowning at Eafrida in confusion.

Once she was gone, he sniffed the air again. Her scent lingered, and he drew it in. Something subtly changed while they spoke, even as her face reddened. Baan had no idea what happened, but for a moment there, his strong urge to mate whenever she was near seemed to ratchet up, as if something about her scent were... inviting such a reaction.

He shook his head sharply. The urge was a bad one, and he shouldn't let it consume him.

* * *

"Was he there when you arrived?" Alric asked, and Eafrida started.

"Of course," she replied, bewildered. Alric relaxed, and even chuckled.

"He must have been a soldier, then." At her deepening confusion, he added, "He obeys orders." Then he frowned. "Some of them, at any rate. He was looking at you again. I told him to stop."

"Why would you...," she faltered. "No, he _barely_ looked at me. Why would you tell him such a thing?"

Alric sagged with relief. Perhaps the Orc had simply never seen a maid blush before. Why she _would_ blush, however, begged the question. "I do not want him looking at you, simply put. Now why would you turn red? Did he say or... do anything inappropriate?"

Eafrida retreated to indignation to hide her guilt for her own indiscreet thoughts. Folding her arms defiantly over her chest, she snapped, "I daresay if he _had_ I would not have remained in his presence. I would _certainly_ have informed him of it if he had done so. We talked about otters, and that is all."

Still uncertain, Alric reluctantly conceded the argument. "Very well."

"Now what is this about telling him not to look at me?"

"It is not _that_ he looks at you, it is _the way_ he does," Alric said carefully.

"Whatever does _that_ mean?" she said impatiently.

"He looks at you... with greater interest than... is appropriate," he ventured delicately.

"Are you saying," she said quietly, her arms slowly unfolding in her shock, "he looks at me as Deorwine does?"

Alric snorted and shook his head. "No. Deorwine looks upon you with the soppy, lovesick eyes of an infatuated pup. Baan does not look at you that way."

"How, then?" she whispered.

It wasn't easy for Alric to describe, for those days were far behind him. Yet, in spite of Baan's apparent youth, and the childlike wonder of his expressions at all other times... "He looks at you... as Coenred looked upon your mother in days past, and Eadgyd now. A man to a woman."

Eafrida's eyes could not have opened wider. Covering her mouth with one hand, she hugged her suddenly rippling and fluttering middle with the other. Her breath quickened, and she stared at her grandfather's shelter as if she could see through the walls to the Orc within.

"I thought you should know," Alric said quickly, mistaking her alarm for fear. "I do not want you to be alone with him lest... While I do not think he will harm you, I think... it would be best for you if... Just be sure to always have another with you when he is near."

Eafrida barely nodded her acknowledgement. Her thoughts were more jumbled and confused than they had been the day before. Grasping for anything solid and real, she tore her gaze from the tent and looked at her grandfather.

"Then... the vote has been cast in his favor? Baan will stay?"

"Yes," Alric replied, somewhat relieved to be leaving what was becoming a very uncomfortable subject. "In spite of Sighard's best efforts."

"Where will he be staying?" she asked.

"With me, for the time being. I spoke with him last eve. He seems to be suited to hunting and fishing. At least, that is what he did along the river."

_He also swam_, Eafrida thought, and again imaginings of his dark skin shining wetly in the sun came unbidden. Shivering as from a cold chill, she hugged herself tightly.

"I will keep watch over his activities," Alric soothed, once more misinterpreting his granddaughter's body language. "I and the other elders. Hengist intends to take him fishing today. I suggested taking Aelfled and Osgar, since they are so friendly."

Eafrida smiled in spite of herself. "Aelfled has selected Osgar as her husband. I've no doubt he bucks like a colt against such claims."

Chuckling, Alric said, "He'll learn she cannot be denied. He should hope she becomes distracted by another."

"Easily managed," Eafrida laughed. "Redwald is infatuated with her. I am sure he needs only present the appropriate gift, and she will be his."

"I will inform Osgar, so he may formulate his escape plan," the elder laughed.


	11. Apprehension

**Apprehension**

Alric led Baan to Eadgyd's shelter where she and her daughter waited. Eafrida walked on his other side, keeping her head bowed and eyes averted from the Orc. After being reminded yet again of the inappropriateness of his scrutiny, Baan kept his eyes on the ground before him and didn't even meet Alric's gaze when spoken to.

Baan wasn't the only one Eafrida couldn't face. One glance at Eadgyd when they entered the hut told her their conversation of yestereve would be repeated, this time with Alric present. Flinching, she stared at the rug on the floor of the shelter, clasping her hands before her. It was Eadgyd's habit when Coenred was in the far fields with a herd, leaving her to manage things, that the woman called upon Alric to provide what she felt was the necessary 'authority' with Eafrida. The girl thought it ludicrous; simply tell her what was wanted, and she would do it if the request was reasonable. But evidently because she was not Eafrida's mother, Eadgyd was squeamish about exercising any such privilege granted by her marriage to Eafrida's father.

Eadgyd held Aelfled's shoulders, imposing a degree of propriety on the over-excited child. No one had told Aelfled the decision yet, and she feared the worst. Her eyes were still puffy from a morning cry over losing 'her Baan.'

Once all were assembled, Alric cleared his throat importantly and began. "The elders have met and decided. Baan may stay. His duties will be..."

"He is _staying_?" Aelfled squealed. Startled by her outburst, Alric could only nod.

Aelfled broke away from her mother and flung herself at Baan, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. He lifted his arms out of the way and stared down at the girl with his mouth hanging open, utterly shocked. Helpless, he looked up and met Eafrida's amused gaze. Her shy grin warmed him, and he smiled in return.

Eafrida had to tear her eyes from his after a lingering moment. Now that she knew of his affections for her, it was much easier to see, though his open and honest face could not deceive anyone. He had clearly not fooled her grandfather. Perhaps Alric was oblivious to the expressions on _her_ face, but those of Baan's were as subtle as a half-brick thrown through a wall.

The longer he looked at her, the warmer she became, until the thought of diving into the river held greater appeal. And if he accompanied her...

_What are you **thinking**?_ she scolded herself crossly. _He is an **Orc**! Recall that your brother has gone to **fight** his kind!_

Her brow pinched, and she stole another look at Baan. He was now kneeling, at eye-level with Aelfled, grinning as she told him how she preferred her 'retinue' to walk behind her and carry her train.

"If that is your wish, milady," he said wryly, his growling voice rumbling with amusement.

Baan felt Eafrida's eyes on him once more and dared a glance, even knowing it was wrong of him. He'd memorized her scent from the beginning, and could easily isolate it now. As before in Alric's shelter, she seemed to be giving off a slightly different scent that aroused him. It seemed to beg him to look at her, be closer to her, touch her...

Swallowing the forbidden urges, he made himself look at Aelfled again, which was fortunate because she had noticed his wandering eyes.

"Do pay attention, Baan!" she scolded. "Now, I understand I shall be fishing today. I shall not bait my own hooks, since it is nasty. That will be your duty."

"Aelfled, he is not your slave," Eafrida admonished. "You will bait your hooks as you have always done, and no cheating by having Osgar do it, either."

"He _likes_ yucky things," the little girl protested, crossing her arms over her chest. "Have you seen the state of his _clothing_?"

"No, but I have seen the condition of _yours_," Eafrida retorted. "If I have to mend one more of your skirts because you tore it to pieces climbing trees..."

"Osgar climbs them," Aelfled replied sniffily.

"I give up," Eafrida cried, throwing her hands up resignedly. "Eadgyd, she's _your_ daughter."

Eadgyd felt a pang of longing for a moment; those exact words were sometimes spoken by Coenred in exasperation. Shaking her head, she told herself once more that he would come back to her. He'd promised.

"Aelfled, you will bait your hooks and you will be kind to Baan," Eadgyd said firmly.

"I do not mind," Baan said.

"Oh, you will," Eafrida predicted. "Trust me, you will." Again, their eyes met, leaving both warm and full of provocative thoughts.

"Alric, are you here?" a voice from outside the shelter called politely.

"Yes, come in, Hengist," Alric replied. Hengist entered, followed by his grandson, Osgar.

The reddish hair from his mother's side had reared its head in a fury when Osgar was born. The boy had flaming locks that flowed like gentle waves of lava about his shoulders. His face, on the other hand, was anything but soft. He was three years Aelfled's elder, just old enough to begin hunting, and his face bore a scar inflicted by a furious wolf. He'd nearly lost an eye in the attack. His father was not so lucky. Aelfled thought the boy terribly brave, and oft admired his disfigurement, much to his embarrassment.

"Alric says you fish, Baan," Hengist said good-naturedly. The Orc rose and nodded. "Do you have your own pole?"

Baan's brow furrowed. "Pole?"

"Yes," Hengist said. "A fishing pole. Have you one of your own?"

"I... do not know. What is it for?"

"Fishing, of course," Osgar said with exasperation. Aelfled shot him an angry look.

"He doesn't use a _pole_," Aelfled supplied, then straightened primly, affecting pride on the Orc's behalf. "He uses his _hands_ to fish. I've _seen_ him do it."

Hengist's eyes widened and he stared at Baan. "Your bare hands? You catch fish?"

"Not very well," the Orc replied awkwardly, ducking his head under the man's intense gaze.

"But you _have_ caught a few, correct?" Hengist pressed. Baan shrugged and nodded. "Amazing. Well, perhaps you can teach this old man your technique."

Embarrassed by this man's praise, Baan said even more quietly, "Don't take much. Just watch the smoo-... the otters. And the tall birds. The birds use their beaks, but it is not much different."

Alric shook his head in wonder. "You learned how to fish... from watching the otters and... the heron? That is uncanny, Baan."

"I am not that good," the Orc repeated. He hadn't thought it was anything special. Just... necessary.

"Well, then," Hengist said, clapping his hands together. "Shall we be off? My goodly wife has instructed me that if I am able to secure some eels, she might _just_ allow me shelter for the night."

"You should never have let her taste one," Eadgyd said with a smile.

"Aye, it was my undoing," the elder agreed with a good-natured sigh.

"Will you come?" Baan asked of Eafrida's feet, barely seen peeking from beneath her skirt hem.

"I... should like to, but...," she replied awkwardly to the rug.

"But she must fetch the herd from the north reach that was neglected yesterday," Eadgyd interjected.

"Yes," Eafrida agreed quietly, her cheeks coloring. "Ebba partners me, so I have heard. I expect we'll be at it all day." She barely hid her disappointment. Of all the girls her age in the encampment who might be assigned herding duties with her, it would _have_ to be Ebba.

Hengist patted her shoulder sympathetically. "I am certain you will make the best of it. Ebba needs looking after. Only a month wed, and her man already off to war... She will likely need a friend."

Eafrida's exasperation with the tiresome girl dissolved. Perhaps she was insufferable at times, but Hengist was right; they must _all_ look out for one another.

"Come along, now," Hengist said, and led his troops out of the shelter. Baan cast one look back at Eafrida, managing to somehow catch her eye, then let the rug fall as he left.

"Alric, speak with your granddaughter," Eadgyd snapped impatiently, urging a flinch from Eafrida and a look of startled surprise from Alric.

"Certainly," he replied automatically, then frowned. "What about?"

Glancing at Eafrida's contrite face, Eadgyd folded her arms over her chest. "I do not like the looks she gives that Orc," she hissed. "And I cannot get an honest answer from her about what goes through her mind when she _does_ look at him."

Alric blinked at his daughter-in-law in bafflement. "What..."

"I have not _lied_," Eafrida flared defensively. "What I think is none of your concern!"

"It _is_ my concern if you put yourself in danger!" Eadgyd cried. "I _know_ you are young and believe yourself inviolate, but he is an _Orc_! No matter that he appears... docile. I do not want you making a tragic mistake."

"Perhaps he _is_, but he is also a _man_," Eafrida retorted. "He thinks he is a man, he looks... somewhat like a man..."

"A man with the wickedness of an Orc, or are you blind to _all_?" Eadgyd interrupted.

"He has done _nothing_ 'wicked' or otherwise impolite! You accuse him unjustly."

"Do I? I have _seen_ how he looks at you! Your coy glances and shy smiles do nothing but encourage such attention..."

"Wait one moment!" Alric roared, silencing both women. He looked furiously from one woman to the other. Pointing to Eadgyd, he said carefully, "Are you accusing Eafrida of... harboring _affection_ for Baan?"

"That is _exactly_ what I am saying," Eadgyd confirmed. "She denies it, but I am not so old that I cannot still recognize it when I see it."

Alric stared at his granddaughter in shock. "You... said nothing of this... when I..."

"There was nothing _to_ say!" Eafrida cried angrily. "It is no one's bus-... I cannot _believe_ what you are imagining! I but treat him with kindness, and you assume _this_?" She forced a derisive laugh. "I will not even grace such an accusation with an answer."

"Deny it, then," Eadgyd challenged. "Look me... look your grandfather in the eyes and tell him you feel nothing for Baan. _Tell him that._"

Once more, Eafrida felt ensnared, only this time it was worse. There would be no flippant confessions of stolen kisses with a young man all knew held her in high esteem. She had never in her life told a lie, yet how could she tell the _truth_?

But to lie about where her heart was heading would be an insult to its journey. She could not cheapen her feelings for Baan by lying about them.

Sagging with defeat, Eafrida bowed her head. "He has... moved me. His... loneliness, his... injury... He is so... _different_ from any man I have ever met. So... dark and... mysterious..." Catching herself too late, she looked up guiltily. Her elders were staring at her open-mouthed. "I did not _choose_ to feel this way," she said imploringly.

Alric was too shocked to respond for some moments. Eadgyd took a steadying breath. "I do not want you to be alone with him," she said firmly. "In such a small encampment, I know forbidding you from seeing him at all is unreasonable. You will go about your duties as ever you have, and you will not speak with him. Do you understand?"

Eafrida hung her head in shame, nodding agreement.

Eadgyd shot a look at Alric, and he shook himself. "Indeed. I concur. I will speak with Baan as well. He obeys like a soldier. I should have no trouble acquiring his cooperation in this."

* * *

Eafrida sat stiffly in the saddle as she and Ebba rode out to the northern pasturelands. Ebba seemed to understand that some great argument had occurred, rendering Eafrida silent and immovable, so she kept her peace for the moment, though her curiosity chafed.

By the time the herd had come into view, Ebba could stand it no longer.

"Was it to do with the Orc?" she blurted.

Startled from her dark musings, Eafrida stared at the other girl. "What?"

Rolling her eyes, Ebba said, "Whatever has got you in such a mood. Did he offer to show you how he differs from a man?" She burst out laughing.

Sighing with annoyance, Eafrida snapped, "_No_. And he is _no_ different from a man." Frowning, she added uncertainly, "I expect."

Ebba's humor dissolved, and her grin fell away. "You have seen him?"

Always her talebearer, Eafrida's face burned crimson. "I had that... opportunity, yes."

Though well-taught revulsion at the mere _thought_ of seeing such a thing raised Ebba's gorge, her natural – and some would say invasive – curiosity got the better of her. "What did he look like?"

Eafrida gave her a withering look. "I will not describe for you what you know well yourself. He is made – quite likely – as any man is. You have but to imagine your Aldwulf in all his glory, and I am certain you will have it."

"You are no fun," Ebba pouted. "At least tell me how you came to see an Orc... _naked_," she said with a wicked twinkle and a giggle.

"Honestly, Ebba, marriage has not matured you in the slightest," Eafrida replied loftily.

"Was he bathing?" Ebba probed, then snickered. "Of course he wasn't. He's an _Orc_. Likely knows nothing of washing himself."

"He is... only _partly_ an Orc," Eafrida pointed out defensively. "He spent a good deal of his time in the water, if you must know, so I imagine he was quite clean when we found him. I caught none of the stench of Orc about him."

"Well then, perhaps there is hope for him yet," Ebba conceded. "Granddad Sighard told the eldest girls he is a lustful thing that will likely come after us in the night. Did he visit _you_ last even?"

Eafrida scowled at her. "Of course he did not. He is nothing like the Orcs we fight. And your granddad is a worrier. Baan has a kind soul and a good heart."

Arching her brow, Ebba examined Eafrida's expression closely for a moment. Then she smirked. "Oh, Eafrida. You have fallen hard, haven't you?" Shaking her head, she gave the other girl a mockingly pitying look. "I suspect you see him in your thoughts quite often, do you not? Likely in all _his_ glory?"

"Stop it, of course I don't," Eafrida snapped. But her swift denial only seemed to vindicate Ebba's assumptions.

"I saw him this morning," Ebba mused thoughtfully. "Not quite as ugly as those _other_ Orcs, is he? Well formed body, I noticed. Not hunched or stooped as _Orcs_ are. Quite... manlike, in fact. Why, I imagine that in a dimly-lit hut, he might even _look_ like a man."

"Whatever are you talking about?" Eafrida sighed.

"Nothing," Ebba replied innocently. Grinning, she cast a provocative, knowing look at Eafrida. "Was he... large?"

Eafrida frowned. "I do not know what you mean."

"Dear, sweet, _innocent_ Eafrida," Ebba said gently, but with more than a hint of superiority. "When you are wedded and _bedded_, you will understand such things, I am sure. My Aldwulf is a good size I find quite satisfactory, but I have guessed at a few of the other men, now that I have a sense of what I am looking at when they are clothed. In my opinion, you would have done yourself a disservice with Deorwine. He might have pleased you in other ways, but not _that_ one." Taking a deep breath and smiling, she added, "I would have to get a better look at Baan to be sure, but at first blush, I would say he should be pleasing enough."

Mouth hanging open in shock, Eafrida could only blink for several seconds. Eventually, she found her voice. "_Ebba!_" she cried, thoroughly scandalized. "Are you speaking of a man's... _Shame_ on you!"

Ebba's brows arched and she sneered. "You know, if you did _not_ harbor such fantasies, you might have admonished me for suggesting such an abhorrent and vile thing as union with an Orc. I daresay that is far more worrisome than what I may think of a man's... endowments."

* * *

"It is like a game, I think," Hengist said as he examined the bowl of worms Osgar dug up from the riverbank. "All hunting is a game. There are rules. Some are winners, others... not so lucky. We, as hunters, can only go so far in claiming advantage. Our prey are gifted with their own skills and wiles, none of which we may take away from them, nor can we hope to emulate." Passing a sideways glance at Baan, he smiled. "Believe it or not, fish are no different."

Baan nodded. "That is so. But it is more than just the fish knowing what I am up to," he continued thoughtfully. "I think... I cannot see what is truly there, when I look into the water. I _think_ the fish is _here_," he said, miming an undulating fish motion with one hand, "but my eyes tell me it is _here_." He held his fist up a foot away from the 'fish.' Sighing, he concluded, "So my strike misses."

"I am impressed, Baan," Hengist smiled. "Very astute observation. There is, indeed, a distortion to our sight when looking into water. I suspect you were learning to compensate for the difference, though."

"Yes," Baan replied. "Beginning to."

"You have the makings of a good hunter, for a hunter learns not only his prey, but their world. Now, you see this?" he asked, holding up a mud-encrusted, wriggling worm. "This little one gives us advantage over the fish. He will not strike a hook, for it does him a degree of harm. _But_, when an enticing meal is presented, he ignores the thing that will hurt him and takes the food. But again, we are sometimes thwarted, for the fish may nibble ever so gently so that we do not know he steals the bait. So he gets _his_ meal, and _we_ go hungry."

"That is the game," Baan said, smiling with comprehension.

"Aye, that is the game," Hengist said, casting his baited hook into the river. "Winners and losers. Which shall we be today, do you think?"

"We will win," Baan said confidently as he baited his own hook the way he'd seen the elder do. Mimicking the same sweeping motion, he cast his line. He would win, and present his catch to Eafrida, he decided. And he would look _at_ her when doing it, regardless of anything Alric had to say about it. Her scent, her smiles, her manner all spoke of her receptivity to his suit. His instincts were clear on the matter: this was between him and her alone.

* * *

"Don't know why it matters," Osgar grumbled as he scrubbed the wormy dirt from his hands in the shallows. "Puttin' on airs."

"Oh, _do_ speak up," Aelfled said witheringly as she continued to swipe at the dirt stain on her shirt sleeve. "What did you grab me for?"

"There was a deer up river," he explained with a shrug. "Had a fawn with it. Thought you might wanna see'em. But your belly-achin' done scared'em away."

"Why didn't you _say_ so?" she wailed. "Oh, Osgar, you are _impossible_. I shan't marry you if you continue to be so rough."

"Praise Béma," he muttered. Standing and shaking the water from his hands, he saw something strange to the southeast.

"Looky there," he said, pointing.

Huffing impatiently, Aelfled looked where he was pointing and frowned. "What is it?"

"Them's watchfires," he whispered, alarm in his voice. "And they ain't ours."

The two children's eyes met, then they turned and ran back to Hengist and Baan in a panic.


	12. Blood

**Blood**

Hengist cursed his aging eyes as he shaded them against the morning sun. Just as Osgar reported, there were many, _many_ pale plumes of smoke curling lazily skyward across the river to the south. Though the glowering clouds of the Enemy hovered over them, they had not yet reached so far as the encampment. The elder suspected that the tenders of those campfires marched beneath it.

"They are still a few miles off," he murmured, squinting hard to make out any details. He shook his head. "They cannot possibly be friendly if they come from _that_ direction." Turning to his grandson, he gripped the boy's shoulder. "Your sharp eyes may have saved us, Osgar."

"My mum's gettin' in the herd to the east," he said stiffly. "She went _east_, granddad."

"I know," he growled. Glancing at Baan's uncertain face, he gestured across the river. "The bad people," he said simply, and was surprised to see Baan's entire demeanor change in a heartbeat.

The Orc's brow furrowed, casting a deep shadow over his piercing eyes. A hostile grimace contorted his face; he bared his teeth. His fists clenched, and a low rumbling growl poured out of him.

"Baan?" Hengist whispered cautiously. The Orc's yellow eyes flicked to his face.

"Gimme a sword," Baan growled, beginning to tremble. "I ain't one'uh them."

"We must gather our folk," Hengist said awkwardly. "In the encampment. All who are scattered about the plains must abandon the herds now. Come. All of you." He turned and walked briskly back to camp.

Aelfled grabbed Osgar's hand and nearly bowled him over trying to get close. For once, the boy didn't impatiently push her away. They hadn't had to deal with Orcs in at least a year, if not more. Neither child could clearly remember the last encounter, but the way their elders spoke of _any_ such attack, there was great cause for fear in seeing a muster so large and so close.

Eyes focused ahead, Baan's thoughts were shifting to strategy. It was a large group of bad people. If all of them came at once, none of them would stand a chance. More likely they'd send a small party to deal with the encampment. All who could fight must be armed...

Suddenly, Eafrida's face swam to the forefront of his thoughts and he faltered. Like Osgar's mother, she was away from camp. Far from him. Where he could not protect her. Fear for her assumed complete control over him, and he hastened past Hengist, then broke into a run. _Alric_, he thought. _He will know where she has gone_.

Baan's arrival ahead of Hengist was met with shocked looks and the immediate disappearance of Beornwyn into her and Sighard's hut. The Orc paid them no heed; he burst into Eadgyd's shelter, assuming Alric would still be there.

He was not, and Eadgyd, busy sorting laundry, nearly fell over backwards with shock.

"Baan!" she cried, clutching her heart. "What..."

"Bad people!" he barked, pointing southeast. "Past the river, few miles. Where is Eafrida?"

Eadgyd's eyes widened, and she shot to her feet. "She has gone with Ebba to the northern pasture. Can you ride?"

"Ride what?" he said, startled.

"You must be swift!" she said urgently, pushing him back out the doorway ahead of her. "Can you _ride_?"

She was steering him toward a large animal he hadn't seen before. Truly, his exposure to the encampment had been minimal so far; he didn't consciously recognize this creature, yet something deeper told him it was to be feared. He dug in his heels and shied away from it.

The beast did not appear to want anything to do with _him_, either. The horse tossed its head and flared its nostrils, backing away to the end of its tether. Eadgyd struggled with the lead rope with increasing distress.

"I can run," Baan said. "Fast and far, I can run."

Turning to look at him, she remembered seeing Orcs flee before an _é__ored_. They could, indeed, cover a good deal of ground in a short time when pressed.

"You will... see that she is safe?" Eadgyd asked nervously.

"I will guard her with my life," Baan replied firmly. By the look on his face, there was not doubt in Eadgyd's mind that he would do exactly that.

"You do not know the way," she whispered.

Baan's expression softened somewhat, looking almost reassuring. "I know what she smells like. I'll find her."

His words gave her an unexpected relief, and she found herself gripping his hard-muscled arm. "We will have to move. We cannot wait for your return."

"I'll find you too," he assured her.

"Here," she said briskly, and hurried back into the shelter. Going straight to a chest by her bed, she needed only rummage for a moment; she knew where to look. Eadgyd presented him with a sword, one that Coenred had replaced with a better blade but had been loathe to part with for reasons of sentiment. Hesitating only a moment, she hastily belted the leather scabbard about the Orc's waist. "Run fast," she breathed.

Baan nodded sharply, then seemed to have decided the conversation was growing unnecessarily long, for he turned and left the hut with all speed.

Eadgyd bit her lip uncertainly. She'd just armed an Orc and sent him to fetch her step-daughter.

* * *

"We must assume Cair Andros has fallen, then," Alric said. "War has come." The elders had gathered all those left in the encampment in the center next to the smoldering firepit. Almost the first thing Hengist did upon arriving was smother the flames to hide any telltale smoke.

"And we stand here with one of theirs among us," Sighard snarled. "Where can we possibly go that he will not slink off in the night and inform his fellows of? Hmm?"

"Mind your tongue," Hengist snapped. Their numbers were severely reduced and scattered to the winds, trying to protect their herds. They were more vulnerable now than they had ever been in his reckoning.

"Granddad," Osgar said stiffly at his elbow. "Granddad."

"Yes?" Hengist said impatiently.

"Mum's gone east," he reminded the man. "Gotta bring'er back."

The elder steeled himself and knelt to look at the young boy. Osgar hadn't been the same since the injury. Looking at him was like looking into the eyes of a man grown. "You know where she has gone?" Osgar nodded solemnly. "Saddle a horse. Ride swiftly. Her sister is with her, if I am not mistaken. Bring them home."

Osgar nodded, then sprinted off to fetch his pony.

"Is he going alone?" Aelfled asked nervously, and Eadgyd embraced her shoulders.

"He is not a fool," she said. "He will be careful."

"But... without _me_?" Tears welled in her eyes. Then she seemed to notice for the first time... "Where is Baan?"

Eadgyd darted a look at Alric, then averted her eyes uncomfortably. "He has gone to find Eafrida."

"He _what_?" Sighard roared. "My only _granddaughter_ is with her! You sent that _Orc_ after them? Are you _mad_?"

"Sighard!" Alric and Hengist barked in unison. Aelfled stared at the elder with open-mouthed shock. Then her face contorted with fury.

"He is _not_ an Orc!" she cried angrily. "You take that back!"

Eadgyd started, then shot Sighard a warning look. "You are _mistaken_. He is an _Easterling_. He is _not_ an Orc." Glaring at the elder, she jerked her head toward the other young children, Theodhilde and Redwald. "He is not an Orc."

Well beyond caring about childish sensitivities, Sighard bellowed, "That _thing_ is no more Easterling than _I_ am! That... _bastard_ is an _Orc!_ You will see. Mark you, he will turn on us all the _moment_ his fellows discover we are here. All that he has forgotten will come back, and we will be _done for_!"

"Sighard!" Alric barked. "Collect yourself! We have to move. We will take down the three largest shelters. There are few enough of us left that each family will fit. Eadgyd, see to the youngest children, if you please. I daresay Sighard's precious chickens must be rounded up."

"Redwald, Theodhilde, Aelfled; come with me," Eadgyd called, and led the anxious children away.

Beornwyn stood close by her only daughter, Beornflaede. The poor girl held her two month old child, Emma, close. "Come along, now," Beornwyn said gently. "We will see to the wagons."

"I can help," Sighard's elder daughter-in-law offered. Godgyfu could barely think straight, she was so worried for her Ebba. She exchanged a glance with Wilburh, then followed their mother-in-law. Wilburh joined Alric, Hengist, Cynwise and the latter's eldest daughter, Eadburga, in dismantling the nearest shelter.

Githa, Eadburga's daughter, headed for the sheep pen. At least she'd been fortunate enough to gather the flock the day before, and hadn't set them loose to graze yet. She set to driving them out of their pen and toward the northwest, where they hoped to get far enough away that the Orcs would not discover them.

The encampment was a flurry of activity as livestock was gathered, horses were saddled or harnessed, and goods were flung swiftly into the wagons. Every so often, eyes flicked southward, dreading to see dark figures coming for the southern banks of the Entwash.

Fortune was with them for the moment; Osgar's sharp eyes saw the horde long before the Rohirrim were spotted, and they were able to clear out in time.

All that remained were the missing members of the clan, scattered in the opposite direction from where their families were forced to flee.

* * *

"Get that mare, she's one of _your_ family's," Eafrida called, exasperated. It seemed Sighard's herd was stubbornly belligerent with any but his immediate family. Every time she got near, they would shy away. Eafrida was certain they did it just to taunt her.

Ebba swung her horse's head around and headed back to pick up the obstinant straggler, clucking her tongue and tapping rumps with a long stick as she guided her horse through the throng. There were a few dozen in this herd, a mix of horses from the three families. The two women had been hard pressed to drive the herd southward; the lead mare was in a particularly stubborn mood, and kept trying to lead them in any direction but the desired one.

"This is getting us nowhere," Eafrida muttered wearily. Easing her horse to a halt, she wiped her sweating forehead and checked the sun's position. Terribly late to be showing nothing for their efforts, she mused. Then she frowned.

A dark figure was heading in their direction from the camp. Shielding her eyes against the sun's glare, she squinted across the distance.

"Baan?" she murmured. "What on earth...?"

The Orc was running flat out. She did not even question why _he_ would be coming for them. Her gut clenched automatically. Kicking her horse's flanks, she urged it to meet him as quickly as possible.

When she reached Baan, she leaped from the saddle and fell into his arms, holding him close. _This_ she questioned, but chose not to dwell on it. Something must be terribly wrong for her family to send _him_, after what was said that morning.

"Bad... peh... people," Baan gasped breathlessly, gripping her tightly against him. "Camp... moving... come... must... come back..."

"Baan," Eafrida whispered in his ear. She couldn't let go now that she had a hold of him. "You ran all the way?"

"Keep you... safe," he replied, drawing great breaths. As he recovered from the sprint of nearly two miles, Baan's taut muscles slowly eased. He pulled her even closer, pressing as much of his body against her as he possibly could. The closeness gave him strength yet made him feel weak at the same time. His head rolled forward, his mouth seeking her vulnerable flesh...

She could feel his hot breath against her skin, then the unmistakable scrape of sharp teeth high on her neck. Stiffening with alarm, she drew away a few inches. He shook his head, seeming to come to his senses, and let go of her entirely.

By the uncertain and slightly frightened look on her face, Baan realized what he must have been doing was quite possibly as bad as the urges he felt. He put his gaze straight to the ground where it belonged.

"Osgar saw them," he said unsteadily. "Across the river. The camp is moving." He glanced up to see her also averting her eyes.

"So this is Baan?" Ebba said unconcernedly as she rode up to them. She hadn't seen their embrace, shielded as they were behind Eafrida's horse. "What brings you out here? As if I have to ask."

"Hold your tongue or I'll have it out," Eafrida snapped, rounding on the girl. "Baan came to warn us. Orcs have been spotted across the river. The camp is moving. We must leave the herd and go." She glanced back at Baan for confirmation, and he nodded.

She was about to remount her horse when she noticed the sword at his hip. She recognized it as one her mother, Hilda, presented to Coenred as a bridegift. She'd always admired it, and hoped to be given it upon her wedding day. That someone gave it to Baan seemed an omen of some kind, and sent a shiver down her back.

Baan refused Eafrida's offer to ride with her, choosing instead to run alongside the two women. He'd gotten enough of his breath back that keeping up with them was little hardship. When they reached the camp, all their folk had already left. Eafrida and Ebba dismounted and scanned the ground to determine the exact direction they'd taken.

Within a few minutes, Cynburga and Mildgyd rode up, followed by Osgar. Neither woman had been present when Baan first arrived, and though Osgar told them of the 'Easterling' among them, they were little prepared for what met their eyes.

Mildgyd grabbed her son and held him close to her hip. "You are... the _Easterling_?" she asked incredulously.

Meeting her gaze unblinkingly, he nodded. "I am called Baan."

The two women exchanged a look and found they were in agreement – he was not even _remotely_ an Easterling. Seeing their mounting distress, Eafrida hurried to them and whispered, "Your eyes do not deceive you, but we _must_ keep the children from knowing the truth. He suffers as Baelwine suffered. He does not know who – or _what_ – he is. Please. He is no danger to us. The Three voted in favor of letting him join us."

"Was our father in favor?" Cynburga asked suspiciously.

"Yes, he was," Eafrida replied. Still, the women did not seem entirely convinced.

"We have no time for this," Ebba said nervously. "The darkness is nearly upon us. Do you want to wait for it to engulf us completely?"

"They are just storm clouds," Cynburga said witheringly. "I doubt they mean anything _sinister_." She and her sister shared a laugh at Ebba's expense.

"Ebba is right," Eafrida interjected, adding, "about making haste, at least. They would have gone northwest, I think. Baan, can you find their trail? I am a dreadful tracker."

Nodding, the Orc set to work sniffing the air and examining the ground. Such a flurry occurred in the wake of Osgar's discovery that it was difficult to tell which direction the clan went until he'd gone a few dozen yards beyond the perimeter. Then he found the churned up earth made by the horses and the ruts dug by wagon wheels.

"This way," Baan said, straightening up and looking back toward the camp where four women and a young boy stood waiting... with four dark figures creeping up behind.

Even before the women realized they were in danger, Baan felt himself change. His senses sharpened. His mind focused, narrowing its sphere to the only truths that were important now: his enemy was before him, and his mate was threatened. Swiftly drawing his sword, he leaped forward with a challenging roar.

Though startled by Baan's sudden outburst, Eafrida instinctively knew to look _behind_ her, and so was able to dodge the first Orc's attack well enough to unsheathe her own blade and strike his flank as he barrelled past her. Ebba screamed, yet was level-headed enough to counter a blow aimed for her head.

Mildgyd shoved her son clear and engaged one of the Orcs fiercely. Then Baan reached the skirmish.

The scouting party was momentarily taken aback. One with an unmistakably Orcish appearance was _attacking_ them. They had little time to wonder at the reason for it, with the much larger Orc bearing down on them in a nearly berserking fury. Baan roared and bellowed like a beast, employing elbows to smash faces when his sword was occupied.

They were bad people. Left alive, they would do bad things. So they must not live.

Even in his current state, Baan was hard pressed to take on all four Orcs alone. He found himself edging closer to Eafrida until they were fighting back to back. Ebba stuck by Eafrida's side like a burr. A few feet away, Cynburga and Mildgyd each battled their own foe.

Osgar knew better than to get in the way, and huddled in the shadow of a still-standing shelter, watching his mother worriedly. He'd never seen a battle against Orcs before. It was far uglier and more brutal than he'd imagined. And now that he was looking at them, seeing their features for the first time, he realized something else...

The Orc engaged with Mildgyd added a dagger to the mix, and with both hands bearing a deadly blade, he began gaining ground on the woman. She could only block and deflect for so long before her defenses weakened. Sensing an opening, the Orc thrust his sword under her guard. Mildgyd cried out in pain and fell to her knees, clutching her side.

The woman's fall had a galvanizing effect on Baan. Double-fisting his sword, he brought it down in a powerful overhand motion, splitting open the Orc before him from neck to groin. Black blood sprayed all over him, and he kicked the corpse away. The scent of blood in his nostrils and the taste of it on his tongue, Baan threw back his head and let out a deafening roar. Turning, he aimed for Mildgyd's gloating opponent, but found Cynburga's in his way. The poor woman was screaming her sister's name, trying to finish the beast off and go to Mildgyd's aid. Baan shifted his grip and brought his sword stabbing down into the Orc's spine, nearly burying it to the hilt.

While Baan and Cynburga worked to free themselves of their opponents, Osgar boldly rushed to his mother's side. He always carried a long knife, ever since that ill-fated hunting trip that ruined his face and robbed him of his father. Standing over his mother's bleeding body, he held the weapon before him unwaveringly and stared down the amused Orc.

"I likes the cheeky ones," the Orc chortled. "They's got the _tastiest_ meats." Cackling, he lunged for the defiant child.

The Orc's laughter was cut short. To Osgar's surprise, the Orc's head suddenly shot forward, nearly hitting the boy in the chest, yet the body did not follow. Instead, it slithered to the ground bonelessly. Baan stood behind the corpse, heaving great breaths and leering at the dead Orc in triumph.

Cynburga rushed over to kneel at her sister's side, and Baan turned to Eafrida and Ebba, but he was too late. Standing shakily over her kill, Eafrida was barely able to focus on anything but the blood-soaked Orc standing among his dead kin.

For a brief moment, she recoiled a small amount. Though he didn't look _quite_ like them, and he obviously fought bravely on the side of the clan, there was no denying the kinship he shared with the Orcs. And to her shame, there was also no mistaking the excitement she felt, seeing his combat-roused body and his confident swagger. The treacherous desire to claim him, and be claimed _by_ him, set loose a wildfire of longing within her.

Before anything was said, or worse, _done_ between them, Osgar approached Baan and looked up at him solemnly.

"You saved my mum," he said quietly. His eyes flicked across Baan's face, noting his distinct features, then to the wounds on Baan's chest and arms, and the black blood of the Orcs mingling with the black blood of the 'Easterling.' Nodding, he said, "Don't matter. You saved my mum." Holding Baan's gaze with eyes that had now _twice_ stared death in the face, Osgar held out his hand. Baan hesitantly took it, unsure of the gesture. Osgar pumped the Orc's rough, clawed hand twice, then released it.

The exchange gave Eafrida the necessary time to recover herself. "We have to go before more of them come. It was this way, Baan?" He nodded. Ebba and Cynburga rounded up the horses from where they'd scattered. Eafrida helped the injured Mildgyd mount, then the six of them hurried after the rest of the clan.


	13. Respite

**Respite**

Once the consuming activity of erecting the three shelters had been completed, the Rohirrim hovered worriedly, their eyes frequently darting back toward the old camp. Godgyfu whose daughter was with Eafrida, Hengist and Cynwise with half of their remaining family members unaccounted for, were distraught.

Aelfled glared at Sighard, still put out by his accusation of Baan. Seeing her winding up to give the anxious man a piece of her mind now that the dust had settled somewhat, Eadgyd took the little girl aside.

"Dearest," she said calmly, "there is something you must know. You know Baelwine, do you not?"

Startled into paying attention, Aelfled gave her mother a withering look. "Of _course_ I do. He is Eadburga's husband."

"Yes," Eadgyd nodded. "You were too young at the time, but years ago, Baelwine was thrown from a horse..."

"What has that to do with _anything_?" Aelfled cried. "Sighard, the big meanie, insulted _my Baan_! He called him an _Orc_! Honestly!"

"Shush!" Eadgyd said peremptorily. "Listen to me. Baelwine was struck upon the head and forgot who he was. He did not know Eadburga. He could not remember Githa _or_ Cearl."

"But... "

"_Listen_," Eadgyd interrupted urgently, holding the girl's shoulders. "Baan has been injured in the same way. He does not know who he is. He has no memory of what he was... what he _is_. I am afraid, dear... Sighard is _right_. Baan... is an Orc."

Aelfled shook her head. "No, he is not," she replied hotly. "Not my Baan."

"Trust me when I tell you this, he _is_," Eadgyd insisted desperately. "We did not want you to know. We feared... you would _tell_ him. He must not be told."

"Why?" Aelfled asked in a small voice, her eyes wide with confusion and fear.

Eadgyd shook her head. "We do not know what he will do. He has shown such... restraint. We hoped, perhaps, if we treated him as a Man... what he _thinks_ he is, he would be... more... like a Man." Her brow creased with worry. "We can but hope..."

"They're coming!" Sighard called, and all of the clan surged to their feet.

Keeping hold of Aelfled for a moment longer, Eadgyd repeated, "You must say _nothing_ to him of it. Do you understand?"

Aelfled quickly nodded. The two of them joined the rest as the riders drew closer.

Ebba's family surrounded her and helped her off her steaming horse. Likewise did Hengist's folk embrace Cynburga and Osgar. Mildgyd was eased from the saddle, weak from blood loss, and carried away to the family's tent.

Alric and Eadgyd were handing Eafrida down from her horse when they noticed Baan gasping for breath and gripping his knees, bent over as if he would vomit at any moment. Eafrida pushed past her family and rushed to his side.

"Baan!" she cried as his knees gave way and he sank to the ground. He leaned against Eafrida, barely able to hold himself upright a moment longer. It was impossible to tell how great his injuries were, for he was covered in the Orcs' blood as well as his own. "He must be seen to. Help me!" Eafrida implored, and Alric dragged Baan to his feet. He and Eafrida helped him stumble to their shelter.

"What happened?" Alric asked as they eased Baan onto a pallet. The Orc sprawled weakly, closing his eyes with relief. His limbs trembled from the run, and he began to feel cold.

Eafrida described the battle haltingly as she hurried to remove Baan's shirt. Eadgyd sent Aelfled to fetch water from the barrel they'd hauled with them, and began tearing strips of cloth for bandages.

"He ran," Eafrida explained breathlessly. There was so much blood... "All the way to the pasture, then back again to the camp. We were beset by Orcs, and he fought bravely. Then he ran _again_ to come here." Tears welled in her eyes and her vision blurred. "I cannot tell where he is cut, or how bad it is... Help me, _please_..."

Alric embraced his granddaughter and pulled her aside, allowing Eadgyd to tend the Orc's injuries. Aelfled stared at Baan's bloodied body and chewed her lip to keep from crying.

"I think...," Eadgyd finally said after she'd cleaned him off, "I think he will be all right. These cuts are not so deep. Most of the blood was not his." Turning to Eafrida, she asked, "How many?"

She swallowed her relief, and forced herself to think. "Four. Just... four. That was all."

Alric frowned. "There will likely be more where they came from. Scouts, I shouldn't wonder. We will need to move again in the morning. I do not think we should stay in one place if they have already crossed the river."

"We won't be going back?" Aelfled cried, suddenly stricken. "But... my pelt! Eadric gave it to me! I can't leave it there."

"It is a small loss," Alric replied sternly. "Look at what happened to Baan. The old camp is no longer safe. I've no doubt Eadric will replace it upon his return."

"But..."

"Enough!" Eadgyd snapped. "That is the end of it."

"I will see to the others," Alric informed them as he rose. "If there is anything he needs, he may have it." Looking down, he met the Orc's steady yellow gaze. "Thank you for bringing her back safely, Baan," he said thickly.

Turning away before his emotions got the better of him, Alric left the shelter.

* * *

Hengist was in complete agreement with the notion of moving as soon as the injuries were treated. His wife, Cynwise, hovered over Mildgyd. Osgar had come back spattered with Orc blood, and sat at his mother's side with a distant look in his eyes. He allowed his aunts to fuss over his clothing and washing, but otherwise made no response to their questions.

The others of the family gathered around as Cynburga regaled them with the tale, somehow able to find the glory in it after the fact, for at the time she could think of nothing else but the safety of her kin. Her daughter, Theodhilde listened raptly, hoping one day to be as brave as her mother.

Eadburga tucked her young son, Cearl, into his sleeping pallet, shushing his endless questions about why they were in granddad's tent. "Only for the one night, dearest," she whispered. "Sleep now."

"I think it will be more than one night," Alric told Hengist in an undertone. "We must assume the threat will remain until the men return from Gondor."

Nodding, Hengist watched his daughter a moment. Mildgyd endured the sewing of her wound as stoically as she'd borne Osgar. Tearing his eyes away, he said, "Cynburga says Baan took their side. He fought in the manner of an Orc, but turned such rage upon the Orcs, not them."

"Aye," Alric agreed. "Eafrida said the same. He has proven himself in _my_ eyes, at least."

"And mine," Hengist replied. "Any doubts I had are now gone. It remains whether Sighard will change his mind."

"Hmph," Alric snorted. "He is a stubborn fool. I suspect it would take more than the defense of his granddaughter to sway him."

* * *

Ebba was not harmed in the attack beyond a few scratches. Her parents had taught her well in the use of a sword. At the moment, the attention being paid her seemed ludicrously overdone.

"I am unharmed!" she cried, batting her mother's hands away. Godgyfu retreated, slightly hurt.

"I but worry. You faced Orcs, then to come home in the company of one..."

Rolling her eyes, Ebba snarled, "You had but to _see_ him. I believe what has been said now. He is _not_ one of them. Had he been, he would not have so thoroughly butchered those Orcs in our defense. Now leave me be!"

"I thought you said Baan was an Easterling," Redwald ventured. Beornflaede, nursing his new sister nearby, shook her head.

"It is a falsehood we told everyone, dear," she told her son. "The children, at least. We did not wish to frighten you."

"It is best the truth comes out now," Sighard growled. With his entire family now ensconced in the shelter together, he had no place to pace and work off his frustrations. Instead, he brooded sullenly in a corner. "I do not trust this... momentary... _brief_, mark you, choice to aid you. As I recall from your description, it was not to _your_ side that he rallied, but that Eafrida girl."

"Only because he is utterly smitten with her," Ebba replied snappishly, then regretted it. Attempting to divert the shocked looks of her family members, she added, "And he did not simply guard _her_. He hastened to Mildgyd's aid, cleaving _two_ foes in the process."

"Oh, did he spill their guts?" Redwald asked eagerly, eyes shining with the sort of excitement about such things that only someone who has never seen it with his own eyes can possess.

Growing ill, Ebba swallowed the urge to vomit. "Yes. It was disgusting. I would appreciate if you kept your peace about it from now on."

"May I enter?" a voice called from outside.

"If you believe you can manage not to trip over anyone, you may, Alric," Sighard sighed.

Alric stepped inside and scanned the floor. The pallets were arrayed rather haphazardly, making navigation difficult. Smiling, he said, "I do hope no one feels the need to relieve themselves during the night. They shan't go quietly."

"Most amusing," Sighard growled. Lurching to his feet, he met Alric in the center. "What brings you? Has the Orc perished from his injuries?"

"No," Alric said coldly, "and neither has Mildgyd, thank you for asking." Satisfied by the elder's chagrin, Alric went on briskly, "Hengist and I are in agreement. This attack likely means a larger force has crossed the river somewhere and will undoubtedly find the old camp. It would take little for them to find us here. Prepare your folk to pack up in the morning."

Sighard nodded. "A wise assumption. We will be ready at dawn."

* * *

Baan ached all over, and lay shirtless and close to sleep on his pallet. There seemed to be a disagreement going on between Eadgyd and Eafrida, but he was too tired to make note of the subject. Aelfled kept well away from him, but he couldn't spare the child any thoughts either. He wanted simply to drift away and _sleep_.

"You are _not_ moving your pallet, and that is _final!_" Eadgyd hissed, trying desperately to keep her voice pitched low. "It is beyond unseemly. Think of what your _father_ would say!"

"He needs watching," Eafrida retorted. "If he wakes in the night with pain..."

"He may wake someone for relief," Eadgyd snapped. "You do _not_ need to be beside him."

Eafrida looked away and bit her lip. It wasn't worry over his condition that plagued her. He had shown an uncannily high tolerance for pain as Eadgyd stitched his wounds. Eafrida had no doubt he would just as stoically ignore any ache that might assail him as he healed.

She simply wished to be near. When bandaging his injuries, her senses were filled with him. The feel of his skin, rough as hide yet warm and alive in a way she found enthralling. The scent of him, once the sweat and blood had been washed off, was so different from a man's. Closing her eyes and breathing in, she felt the same comfort as being among the horses. Baan's was an animal-like scent, not unclean or foul in the least, but made her think of tending the herds on a crisp fall morning, walking among their warm bodies in the darkness before the sun rose, sleeping out on the plains with the scent of heather on the wind...

Everything about him spoke to her of contentment, of _rightness_, and of home. Did it truly matter where he came from? Was it important how he was made, and from what? Surely if he were the sort of beast they fought back at the camp, she would not now be so drawn to him, would she?

Did it even matter what he might have been, when what he was _now_ spoke so deeply to her heart?

Seeing Eafrida growing more defiant, Eadgyd warned, "Shall I involve Alric in this? Will you listen to _his _entreaties?"

Glaring at Eadgyd, Eafrida snarled, "I should not heed _anyone's_ authority but my own in this! Not _his_, and _certainly_ not yours!"

"I know you are... tense," Eadgyd said evenly, trying a different tack. "It must have been dreadful. The fact that he... he aided you... must have been... exciting, but you mustn't lose your head! He is still an..."

"Do _not_ say it!" Eafrida hissed. "What he is... is _Baan_. Nothing else matters."

"Eafrida..."

"Leave me be!" Whirling around, Eafrida stormed out of the hut. Eadgyd looked over at the Orc. Eafrida's abrupt departure urged him to rise on his elbows and look about him wearily.

"Rest yourself, Baan," she said stiffly.

"Something wrong?" he asked her.

"No, nothing at all," Eadgyd replied hastily. _Nothing and everything_, she amended inwardly, and turned her attention to Aelfled.

Baan shrugged and lay back down. He tried to let sleep take him, but it remained elusive as his thoughts turned once more to Eafrida. She'd bound his injury, stealing the occasional caress when certain Eadgyd was looking elsewhere. The feel of her fingers on his bare skin, so light as to be almost imperceptible, seemed nevertheless able to make him shiver. Low-pitched, purring growls rolled out of him with each touch, and twice she was close enough for him to duck his head and nuzzle her breasts.

He grinned, remembering her reactions: the sharp intake of breath and the tightening grip on his shoulder, the thrum of her heartbeat quickening, the flush of her cheeks, her intoxicating scent...

There was no doubt that she would be receptive to his advances. He had only to...

Frowning, he had that uncomfortable sense that his 'advances' would cause her more pain than a thousand such injuries as _he'd_ sustained. He realized that, at all costs, he must protect Eafrida, even if only from himself.

Yet there were other things to defend her from. He'd truly feared she would be harmed in the fight with the bad people, and the worry made him reckless. Yet it was not just her safety he wished to ensure, but the other females' as well. Though he'd not met them yet, he knew their place as part of the clan. That was enough to command his loyalty. And when the one called Mildgyd went down, he became... something else...

It was troubling. The bloodthirsty one he'd thought forgotten came back, lusting for the kill and driving him onward. It lent him strength and took away caution. Once blood was in Baan's mouth, the beast roared and carried him deeper into battle, ignoring all else...

Yet he remained aware of _whom_ he was defending, which ones were his enemies. He did not forget these things, though the beast may have wanted him to. He knew beyond doubt, though, that if it had been Eafrida so wounded, he would not have allowed her assailant the same quick death as Mildgyd's.

* * *

Eafrida paced just outside her grandfather's shelter. The few horses they were able to keep were tethered nearby, and seemed utterly calm. She sighed with relief. If only she were as free of worry.

Again, she thought of binding Baan's injuries, and the stolen touches. Eafrida was warmed by his nearness, and aroused by the cat-like purring her caresses provoked. When he boldly rubbed his cheek against her breasts... _twice_... she nearly swooned. His responses to her attentions seemed to raise the bar, as if challenging her to do more.

The temptation to do so was terrifyingly enticing.

Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself that she was a shieldmaiden of Rohan, a young woman of independent mind. She did not _need_ to be claimed by a man to make her whole. She was not like Ebba who seemed to consider attachment to her Aldwulf as the long-overdue validation of herself as a woman. Eafrida never felt so incomplete as that.

No, Eafrida was strong and capable. Worrying about a man's delicate pride would annoy her.

Yet... Béma help her... she needed Baan. She needed him so desperately, it was unlikely something so unimportant as propriety would keep her from him.

Calming herself with more steadying breaths, Eafrida returned to the tent. Eadgyd looked up from her meal preparations, her expression difficult to read.

"I... am sorry, Eadgyd," Eafrida said awkwardly. "I spoke in anger. I did not mean to be disrespectful."

"It is forgotten," Eadgyd replied, motioning for Eafrida to join her. "Come. Sit. I am certain you... Do have something to eat, dear."

Eafrida sat beside Eadgyd and accepted the dried meat and slice of bread meekly. Aelfled, uncharacteristically quiet, snuggled up to her sister and looked up at her forlornly.

"What has put a frown on Her Ladyship's face, hmmm?" Eafrida asked, putting an arm around the little girl.

"My pelt," Aelfled said in a small voice. "Eadric gave it to me. He made it just for me."

Squeezing Aelfled's shoulders, Eafrida said, "You shall have another soon. Be patient."

"But it isn't the same," the little girl whimpered. "It's _special_. Eadric gave it to me. What if... what if he doesn't come back?"

"I know," Eafrida said kindly, hugging her sister close. "Do not worry about Eadric. I told him he must come back or he shan't be forgiven. He will be home as soon as he helps father sort out the Gondorians. You will see."

"But... didn't they go... to fight Orcs? Like Baan?"

Eafrida and Eadgyd exchanged a startled look, and both darted a glance at Baan. Thankfully, he seemed asleep and unaware of their quiet conversation. Recovering herself, Eadgyd asked, "Wherever did you hear that, dear?"

"Osgar," Aelfled replied. "He said the men all left to go fight Orcs. I guess... he didn't know Baan..."

"Hush, now," Eadgyd interrupted. "Remember what I told you. He must not know."

"All right," the little girl replied quietly, looking away. Then she gazed up at her mother with wide, fearful eyes. "Should I... be afraid of him?"

Again, Eadgyd exchanged a look with Eafrida. "No, dearest. He is... a good sort."

"Indeed he is," Eafrida added. "He saved Mildgyd _and_ Osgar."

Aelfled's eyes suddenly glowed with pride. "Osgar is _so_ brave, isn't he? I heard he stood over his mum and stared down... well, one of the _bad_ Orcs, and then Baan just..." She made a sweeping motion with her hand. "Just cut its head right off. That was why he was covered in all that black yuck. It wasn't because he got dirty or something," she explained, in case they might have suspected the boy of being poorly groomed.

The rug over the doorway shifted aside and Alric ducked inside the tent. He hesitated a moment upon seeing them huddled in the center, then shook himself and sat alongside Eadgyd.

"I confess it will take some getting used to," he said wryly as his daughter-in-law passed him some food, "having so many houseguests. Still... it is a sight less crowded here than in the other two huts. Nine apiece; we are likely to hear much howling and complaint when anyone visits the necessary."

Aelfled gave him the giggling he was looking for, and he winked at her.

"How fares Baan?" Alric asked, glancing over his shoulder at the sleeping Orc.

"He is very tired," Eadgyd said. "He has run many miles today, and fought Orcs besides. It is fortunate we are staying here tonight. All are quite weary and need the rest."

* * *

Baan drifted in and out of light sleep, never quite succumbing. While the others fell deeper into sleep, he stared at the ceiling of the tent and wondered again why he should feel so strongly the urge to claim Eafrida, even knowing that such things were not done by the good people. Just looking at her stiffened his member; smelling her alluring scent drove the need even more strongly. He'd let his instincts lead for a moment out on the plains when he held her close; he came near to sinking his teeth into her flesh. And he didn't know why he would want to do something like that.

Whatever caused it was clearly wrong, for she recoiled from him. She would likely retreat further if he sought to mate with her. But... what else could he do? The need was so strong... he did not know what else would satisfy it.

He was startled when, in the quiet darkness of the tent, Eafrida rose silently and crept to his pallet. She knelt beside him and lifted his blanket; he automatically moved aside to give her room.

"Say nothing, Baan," she whispered as she slipped in with him. "Nothing at all."

Eafrida tucked up against his body, her head resting on his shoulder. His breathing quickened, nearly huffing out of him, yet he clearly knew that silence was required, and obeyed without question. She closed her eyes when his arm encircled her, holding her close. Cleaved so close, he seemed like a wildfire in her embrace, so warm was he. She tilted her head up to look at him.

It was too dark to see much, but his eyes nevertheless glinted as he met her gaze. She reached up and touched his cheek.

"Baan," she murmured breathlessly. "My beautiful, brave Baan."

Leaning toward him as far as she could, she brushed his lips with hers. Though he did not respond, he started and she could feel his body quiver.

"What..." he rumbled quietly, and she hushed him by slipping her hand behind his head and drawing him in once more.

It was a wholly unfamiliar sensation to him, yet seemed to please her. The oddness of it dissolved quickly, though, and soon he was aware that his own mouth hungrily devoured hers. Rolling toward her, he wrapped his other arm about her. His hand slipped down her body over her buttocks, and he gripped her firm, rounded flesh tightly, holding her firmly as he pressed his erection against her.

"Baan," Eafrida gasped against his mouth, and he started with a slight grunt. Her voice shook. "Just... no more than... please... A kiss is all..."

Frowning, his chest heaving, he swallowed hard and said as softly as his harsh, rasping voice would allow, "What... is kiss?"

"My lips...," she whispered, and hesitantly brushed them across his, "upon yours. I do not wish anything else."

He nodded, pressing his forehead to hers as he fought to suppress the desperate longing. It was wrong, what he desired. Alric said it was wrong, and now he knew she did not want it. He reluctantly released his hold on her backside and retreated a few inches. "I... am sorry. Nothing more. I... understand."

"Thank you, Baan," she sighed with relief. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly, and settled herself in his arms.

* * *

Aelfled took advantage of her sister's preoccupation with Baan to quietly stuff a wad of clothing under her blanket and prod it into the shape of her body. Darting a look around to make sure that everyone else was asleep, she slipped out the door into the night.

She wasn't big enough to ride even Osgar's pony, but she was fairly sure she could run to the old camp and back before daybreak. Baan had done it, after all.

Poor Baan, she thought. Born an Orc, apparently, yet not like them. She grinned to herself, remembering what she saw. Maybe Deorwine's kiss hadn't interested her sister, but there was no mistaking _Baan's_ kiss for anything but an assurance of marriage! She was glad for him. He was such a nice man... Orc... Ah well, did it really matter? So long as he was a good one, it probably didn't.

The old camp was much further than Aelfled thought as she stumbled on weary legs. The moon was full, at least, so she was able to make out the dark shapes of tents in the distance as she approached. Relief flooded her; she'd have that pelt back and never let it out of her sight again.

Except something was wrong. Closer to the old camp, she realized there was movement among the tents. Many forms were jostling and shoving, knocking things over and tearing tents down. Slowing to a trot, she frowned. Who were _these_ people? she wondered.

Torchlight suddenly flared, and she saw one of the people set a tent ablaze, lighting up the night. At first she was terribly indignant that someone would do such a thing and nearly burst into their midst to scold them. But the light showed her something else.

Squealing in terror, she turned around and ran back to the camp. The three closest creatures jerked their heads up at the sound and made to follow, but a larger one stuck out a hand to stop them. He grinned, showing rotten, jagged teeth.

"Let'er go, lads," he growled, then chuckled. "Give her a head start. Whelp that young's stupid enough to lead us right to the rest of'em." The other Orcs laughed riotously in anticipation of such delicious spoils as the empty camp promised and failed to deliver.


	14. Recollection

**Recollection**

Baan's increasingly tighter embrace urged Eafrida to wakefulness. They were each on their sides, facing one another. His arm beneath her head curled around her shoulders, and his clawed hand gripped her hard enough to leave fingermarks. His other arm encircled her waist.

The grey light of morning filtered through the small window-like openings and their filmy fabric coverings, informing Eafrida that she must leave Baan's bed lest her family discover her indiscretion. But the Orc's state gave her pause.

He was trembling all over. Eyes squeezed shut and a grimace contorting his face, he appeared to be in the throes of a most disturbing dream. Sweat stood out on his forehead, and tears seeped from his eyelids. From his quivering lips, growling sounds could be heard.

To her shock, he sounded as though he were begging.

Leaning closer, she listened hard, and soon made sense of the seemingly random murmuring.

_Not... me... no... no... I didn't... no... don't... I don't... I don't... no... please... not me... it's not me... it's not me... not me... not... it's not... it's not me..._

He appeared terribly distressed. Eafrida wondered if he saw memories, not simply his own mind's fancies. What ugliness was he witnessing? What visions tormented him so?

She could not help but feel relief that, whether truth or lies confronted him, he denied it. He did not want to _be_ what he was seeing.

Her heart full of worry for him, she gently patted his cheek. "Baan," she whispered urgently. "Wake up, dear Baan. Please..."

Baan started awake, crying out loudly in a panic. He could barely breathe, and lay still as a fawn in the grass for a moment. Horrors had visited him in the night once again, already fading, soon to be forgotten. Yet the _feel_ of them lingered. The fear, not his; the blood, not _his;_ the pain, _not his_...

And here in his arms lay Eafrida, her wide eyed gaze upon him...

"Did I harm you?" he asked desperately. He never recalled what he dreamed, only the sense of it. Waking left him disoriented, unable to be sure what was real and what was illusion. With her so close, had he done something to her? Had the foul ugliness that lurked behind his eyes somehow spilled forth to engulf her as well?

"Of course you didn't," she said softly, forcing herself to smile reassuringly. Hearing her grandfather and step-mother stirring, undoubtedly disturbed by Baan's startled cry, Eafrida winced. "You must let me go," she whispered urgently. "Before they see..."

"What is the _meaning_ of this?" Alric roared, and Eafrida flinched. Baan swiftly released her, but she did not hurry herself leaving his embrace. Whatever would be the point now?

"Eafrida!" Eadgyd's voice sounded strangled, she was so shocked. "What were you _thinking_? Such behavior!"

Eafrida could not take her eyes off Baan, and not because of what they shared in the night. He looked to be on the verge of panic, the way his eyes darted about. He seemed stricken that Alric was yelling at the top of his voice at _him_.

"I offered you shelter and kindness!" Alric snarled. "I supported your petition to join us! I _trusted_ you!"

"Enough!" Eafrida yelled, rounding on her elders. Holding her head up with as much dignity as she could muster, she said, "He is blameless, grandfather. I went to _his_ bed. Eadgyd, I was _thinking_ of but one thing. A simple truth that..." She faltered. It had come to her in the quiet darkness, her cheek pressed to his softly rumbling chest, his arms protectively about her...

There was a dark mystery about Baan that she found enticing in its forbiddenness. She had to admit to herself over the course of the night that she found the underlying danger of being close to him exciting. His gentle nature drew her to him, regardless of what the consequences might be. She fairly _hungered_ for him. But it was more than that... much more...

She had mulled it over for a good deal of the night, weighing her heart against the opinions of her family and her people, against the mystery of his past and its effect on him when his memories returned. Concluding that her heart had never failed her or guided her to misfortune before, she chose to hear _its_ plea, not anyone else's.

"A simple truth," she continued firmly. "I love him."

Even as the weight of such a burden lifted from Eafrida's shoulders, Eadgyd wailed in dismay and sank to her knees as though the burden had shifted to her own shoulders. Alric stood in shock. He glanced down at the Orc, now sitting up and looking from one to the other in bewilderment. It struck Alric that Baan likely did not know what 'love' was, much less recognize the word.

Guilt racked the Orc and kept him silent, unable to meet any eyes. Alric's anger could only mean that he'd done a grievous wrong. He should not have... what? Eafrida came to _him_, he reminded himself. She clearly wanted him, if only for closeness. It was not as though Baan went to _her_ pallet, nor did he press his need for mating when she rightly reminded him of its foulness.

Yet still... Alric was the leader, and had told Baan not to feel such urges for Eafrida. Because of Baan's weakness, he failed to obey. He hung his head in shame. Then he paused and frowned. Something was not right...

Finding his voice after a brief struggle, Alric breathed, "How... how _can_ you be?"

Eafrida shrugged helplessly. "I do not know. I only know... that I love him." Each repetition seemed to warm her heart and strengthen her resolve. "I _do_ love him."

"You have... you... have you lain with him, then?" Eadgyd asked, a horrified expression on her face.

Frowning, Eafrida shook her head. "No. Not at all."

Clutching her heart, Eadgyd sagged with relief. "Béma be praised," she sighed. "We shall tell no one of this. When Deorwine returns, perhaps you will come to your senses..."

"What... what are you saying?" Eafrida flared up. "My _senses_? I have not gone mad! And I have no intention of hiding how I feel! He has _proven_ himself. Did you not say last even that Baan's actions had more than satisfied you?"

Flushing guiltily, Alric stammered, "That was before _this_! I _told_ him to stay away from you..."

"No, you told him to stop _looking_ at me," Eafrida retorted. "That is _not_ the same. And quite ridiculous, I might add. How is he to avoid looking at me when he lives in the same camp?"

"That is entirely beside the point!" Alric barked.

"Where is milady?"

Baan's question halted the argument as effectively as water dousing a flame. Eyes flaring wide, Eadgyd rushed to the girl's pallet and tore the blanket off the bundle. While they argued, Baan had felt 'wrong,' as if there was something in the very air, aside from the raised tempers, that did not sit well with him. It took him several minutes to realize it was an _absence_ of scent rather than a surfeit of it.

Letting out a strangled cry, Eadgyd whirled around and stared at Alric.

Furious, he in turn glared at Eafrida. "See what your selfishness has wrought? Had you not been engaged in a tryst, you might have stopped her!"

"How can you say that!" Eafrida cried, yet with a thread of guilt for her inattentiveness. "You cannot possibly know when she left!"

Growing impatient with their meaningless arguments and accusations, Baan lurched to his feet and stretched. "I'll go find her," he announced. No one appeared to be paying him any mind, so he sighed and left.

The sun was still at least an hour from rising when Baan emerged from the hut. Pitching his nose in the air, he gauged the wind's direction. It was blowing to the southeast; not good. The old camp was in the same direction, so anything that might come from there was downwind. Still, he knew Aelfled's scent well, and picked up her tracks heading back toward the old camp.

Frowning, he drew his sword. He didn't like how quiet it was. He tested the air again.

The silence was broken by Eadgyd rushing from the tent, calling Aelfled's name loudly and wildly. Eafrida and Alric were fast on her heels, and their calls roused the rest of the encampment's folk. All emerged bleary-eyed and cross, but Baan had no thoughts to spare for them. A small figure was approaching as though all the bad people in the world were after it.

Running to meet her, Baan picked up the exhausted and terrified Aelfled and hurried back. Her small arms encircled his neck and held on tightly as she sobbed with relief. Eadgyd was the first to reach them, but was unable to get the girl to let go of 'her Baan.'

"Orcs!" Aelfled finally blurted breathlessly, and released Baan enough to point back over his shoulder. Then her eyes shot open wider and she screamed so loud she hurt his ear.

The camp erupted in chaos as children were rushed into Hengist's tent and everyone old enough to fight drew sword to meet the onslaught. Perhaps a dozen Orcs, annoyed beyond their tolerance for having to spend half the night chasing a little whelp _just close enough_ to keep her moving, bellowed their war cries and swept into the camp.

Beornflaede collared her son, staring with mouth agape. "Into Hengist's tent! Quickly!" she cried, turning and pushing Redwald along. Baan had dropped Aelfled quickly to draw his sword, and she now stood frozen in terror.

"Come on!" Osgar barked, taking her wrist and yanking her hard to wake her from her stupor. He likewise grabbed his cousin, Theodhilde, and dragged both shocked girls toward the safety of the elder's shelter. Once Beornflaede ensured the children were gathered, she fetched her infant daughter from Sighard's hut and ducked back inside to join them. She had to quickly shift Emma to one arm in order to grab Osgar before he ran back out, his knife drawn.

"Where do you think you are going?" she hissed.

"I can help," he replied, shaking all over and trying to free himself.

"You'll do no such thing," Beornflaede snapped. "If you wish to help, you will stay here and protect your mother and these children."

"What is going on?" Mildgyde asked feebly. "What is happening?"

"Orcs," Beornflaede replied. "Many of them. More than you faced." Mildgyd's face contorted with fear.

Osgar hesitated, caught between devotion to the only family member left to him, and defense of the clan. Seeing his conflict, Beornflaede softened.

"Your place is here," she said firmly. "Your mother cannot lift a sword. She _needs_ you."

Glancing back at Mildgyd's helplessly terrified face, Osgar nodded. Too weak to rise, she reached for him gratefully as he knelt at her side.

"I could not bear to lose you as well," she whispered. He let her take his hand.

Beornflaede sighed with relief and finally drew her sword. Standing by the entrance, she prepared herself in case... just in case. She made herself focus on the rug over the doorway, rather than allowing her gaze to drift over the children, or worse, her new baby. She did not wish to imagine what terrible fate would befall them if...

Aelfled's entire family was engaged in the battle, and she felt completely alone. Theodhilde held on to her cousin Cearl, a boy too young to tolerate hugs from girls for long before fussing impatiently. Though Redwald looked nearly ready to pull her to his side, Aelfled was not remotely confident in _his_ ability to defend her.

No, when the monsters came, or the wild animals threatened her, or bad dreams disturbed her, only Osgar was brave and bold enough. Aelfled scooted up against his other side and wrapped her arms about his waist. It pleased her that he only hesitated a moment before putting his arm around her shoulders.

She hoped Baan would not be jealous.

* * *

Baan's grudgingly tolerated companion, the bloodthirsty one, unleashed his full fury on the bad people. His sword drew their blood; in a frenzy of his own, Baan lopped the arm off one and clawed at the stump, soaking his fingers in gore. Sucking the blood off, he felt himself tipping over the edge, and this time let himself go. He bellowed with rage, and body-slammed the nearest Orc, forcefully interrupting its battle with Eafrida. Baan possessed just enough of his own will to check her over for injury, then he launched himself upon the stunned Orc.

Eafrida backed away from the display of Baan's violent fury, only to find herself in another fight. The sides were nearly evenly matched, yet the Rohirrim were better disciplined and so were at a slight advantage. They also had an even bigger Orc on their side.

Sighard matched blows with a wiry little Orc that seemed to delight in putting the elder through his paces. Never close enough to kill, the Orc darted in and out of reach, cackling wildly. To add insult to injury, he sometimes spun on one foot to deliver a strike with more flair. The elder had nearly lost his temper when he spied his wife behind the mocking trickster. Flicking his eyes back to the Orc, he pressed the attack just long enough to get the Orc's full attention.

Beornwyn's sword thrust through the Orc's chest put a comically stunned look on his face. Sighard smirked at him as he slid to the ground.

"Well played, my love," he called, and she saluted grimly before turning her attention to the Orc harrying Godgyfu. Sighard himself rushed to Cynburga's aid, for Hengist was engaged at Cynwise's side, one Orc already dead at their feet.

A pained cry was heard over the clash of swords and grunting roars of the Orcs, and Eafrida slashed the arm of her foe and ducked away to give what aid she could. Taking a leaf from Baan's book, she barrelled into the Orc getting the better of Ebba, and together the two young women put an end to the attack. Ebba could spare only a brief nod of thanks before the Orc Eafrida avoided caught up to her.

Though both women went on the defensive, the Orc seemed only interested in Eafrida. Deftly dodging Ebba's swing, he punched her square in the face, sending her sprawling. Then he grabbed Eafrida and flung her bodily away from the chaos. Before she could scramble back to her feet, he was upon her.

Baan's attention was sharply focused on an Orc he'd distracted from attempting to gut Wilburh. Deorwine's mother was not as accomplished with the sword as her sisters-in-law, and the Orc would have put an end to her had Baan not barged in.

Nothing could have broken through Baan's battle fury except the last thing he ever wanted to hear. Eafrida's scream, though difficult for others to distinguish from any other sound on the battlefield, cut so sharply through the fog that Baan froze where he stood, arm pulled back to deliver the killing blow. His head swiveled in Eafrida's direction.

He couldn't see much between the shifting bodies engaged in pitched battle all around, but he caught flashes of what he knew to be Eafrida's dress, and the dark form of a bad person...

Rage consumed him and he swiftly killed the Orc he held at bay. Breaking into a run, he pushed past or jumped over everyone in his path until his view was no longer obstructed, and he could see... The Orc had Eafrida down, tearing her dress to shreds, trying to get through the layers to what lay within. Her sword was gone, and though she fought like a wildcat, her assailant straddled her body and could not be dislodged.

The leering grin and frenzied assault told Baan the Orc had one goal in mind, and his instincts screamed a protest. What the Orc sought belonged to _him_, and no other could lay claim to it. With a roar, Baan sprinted toward them and leaped, hitting the Orc's torso with the force of a charging bull. The Orc was carried several feet by Baan's momentum, the wind knocked from his lungs. Though he held his sword in his hand, Baan punched and beat the Orc about the face with his balled-up fists. He did not stop until well after the Orc had gone limp.

Lurching to his feet, he turned his still-wild eyes on Eafrida and strode to her sobbing form. His blood ran hot enough to scorch, and he needed something to quench it. The familiarity of the woman with the torn dress, trembling in terror, drew him to her. With cold determination, he dropped to his knees and pushed her legs apart, then ripped her under clothes open.

"Baan!" Eafrida screamed, kicking at him as he moved closer. She tried to rise and he pushed her back down with a snarl. He didn't look at her face; he was focused on his hands as his claws shredded their way through what remained of her clothing. "Baan!" she cried again, and slapped him across the face.

He looked up at her and growled, curling his lip, then quite suddenly, his face changed. Horrified shock washed over him, and he froze, his mouth hanging open. He stared at her tear-streaked, terrified face, then slowly looked down at what he had done. Her dress was ripped wide open, as was her chemise. Her underclothes, the last bulwark against him, was nearly breached. He began to shake.

"Baan?" Eafrida whimpered, cautiously pulling her dress closed.

He appeared close to vomiting, and almost unable to breathe. Lips trembling, he whispered, "I... I... Eafrida... I... I'm not... Baan." Slowly backing away, he shook his head, his face a rictus of horror. "Not... Baan." His eyes pleaded with her, as though she might have the power to change what he now knew was true. "I am... I am Ashtakash." He flinched, as if the name alone caused him terrible pain. Looking toward the remnants of the battle, he began to gasp as though he could no longer breathe. "I'm... one of _them_."

Retreating further away from her, he staggered to his feet and stumbled blindly away.

Eafrida gasped for breath, clutching her ruined dress. Glancing back at the battle, she forced herself to note how her folk fared. The tide appeared to be turning; the Orcs' numbers were diminished, and no longer fought one to one, but were now engaging two Rohirrim or more each. Taking a deep breath, she struggled to her feet.

_I must follow him_, she told herself as she turned away from the camp. _He is Baan, no matter what he may recall._

Yet she picked up her sword and clutched the hilt tightly. Taking a deep breath, she followed.


	15. Revelation

**Revelation**

Baan could barely walk a straight line, he was so consumed with shock. The memories assaulted him like flashes of heat lightning in the sky, showing him things he had done, pain he had caused, humiliations he had visited upon Men and Orcs alike. There were none spared the vicious animal he was.

He tried to deny it. He told himself he could not _possibly_ have done such things, but he knew he could, and _had_ done them, as surely as he knew water was wet and that wind rustled the grasses when it blew.

Twice his knees buckled, pitching him to the ground where he vomited hard enough to cause his limbs to tremble. For every atrocity he committed, he could now see faces he knew, though he had done none of these things to the clan.

Every female he'd attacked now had Eafrida's face in his memories. Every male was now Alric. Every child, Aelfled.

He knew now what drew him westward. Not a call so much as an instinctive knowledge: in _that_ direction lay Isengard, the place of his birth. Perhaps the only place in the world his kind were welcomed.

But if he returned to that tower, to the Master who no longer spoke to him, he would go back to what he was. Back to doing the terrible things he used to do.

How could he? How could he possibly do such things again? How had he been capable of doing it _then_?

Finally stopping, he knelt on the riverbank and stared into the water. He longed for the quiet solitude of those days before meeting the good people. Though he had been lonely, and could only now admit to the relief he'd felt when Aelfled greeted him for the first time, he would give it all back to spare them what he truly was.

Yet he had done nothing to them. Surely if he was the despicable monster he remembered himself to be, he should have done harm to all of them, in particular Eafrida, whose nearness and scent drove such a strong urge to mate. Why didn't he simply take what he desired, as he had done so often in his hideous past? What made him spare Eafrida, when he had spared no other?

It did not matter. His foul deeds were writ large upon his mind now, out of the shadows, exposed to the sun. The horrors of his dreams were now realities he'd denied, yet could do so no longer. He could not look Eafrida in the face, knowing what he truly was. He wished never to see any of them again, for how could he look into Alric's eyes now? Simply embracing Eafrida had earned him the man's ire; what if he knew the full extent of Baan's wickedness?

He heard running footsteps approaching, and started. Leaping to his feet, he drew his sword. To his shock, it was Eafrida.

Slowing down, she approached him cautiously. She had recovered her sword and held it at the ready. Her dress was still torn, and she clutched it closed at her stomach. Baan winced and looked away. Though he had not done the worst of the damage, he had done enough.

_Slay me_, he thought bitterly. _Please._

"Baan?" she ventured quietly.

Flinching, he backed away a few more paces. "Don't come near me." He held up a hand in a warding gesture, and became suddenly transfixed with his own hand for a moment. How often had he looked at them and lied to himself about what he was?

"You remember, don't you?" she asked, her expression one of uncertainty. "It has come back to you. What you were before."

His face crumpled as he looked at her beautiful face. He remembered her kiss, and his gut wrenched with such profound despair he shuddered. "I'm one of them, Eafrida. I... I..."

Every time he looked at her, he wanted her, _needed_ her. To be close, to touch, to embrace, to kiss... and especially to mate. He was terrified of those feelings now. He knew his name and what it meant... He didn't want to stain her with such filth.

"What do you remember?" she interrupted, trying to distract him. "How came you to be so injured? Do you recall?"

He took a deep breath and frowned. He hadn't thought to look for that memory, so overwhelmed with the others that such a small thing did not even register. But now he looked back to that day... where he was, and why he was there...

"Me and the lads," he began, "went after... some... halflings."

Eafrida frowned. "What are those?"

Baan shrugged. "I don't know. Master told us they were half the size of Men. That's all I knew." Concentrating, he narrowed his eyes in thought. "There was a battle. They had Men... and an Elf... a Dwarf..." He paused as the memory solidified, and the battle for the halflings came into focus. "Dwarf," he whispered, absently reaching up to rub the back of his head. "Hit me with an axe..."

Looking up at Eafrida, he said, "I should've died. All of them were dead." He paused, then shaking his head slowly, he amended, "No, not all. There weren't enough. Not enough dead ones. There were more of us than that. They must've gotten the halflings and left. They left me."

"I am sorry..." Eafrida offered sympathetically, and he grunted.

"Don't matter," he said unconcernedly. "They would've killed me."

Startled, she tilted her head and asked, "Why in the world would they do that?"

"Cause I wasn't fit to travel," he shrugged. "I couldn't stay awake. Kept passing out. Having fits of some kind. It would've frightened them, likely. They wouldn't wanna have to deal with it. Cut my throat, and they wouldn't have to."

Grimacing, Eafrida said, "That is horrible."

"That is Isengard," he corrected.

"Isengard?" she said, startled.

Baan nodded. "It's where we were made. And where I was going." Squeezing his eyes shut, he swallowed a hard lump in his throat. "I didn't know. I thought... I was going to the good people. I thought I was going home." Opening his eyes, he looked imploringly at Eafrida. His voice shook. "I don't wanna go there, but I don't belong nowhere else."

"You belong with us, Baan," Eafrida said firmly, reaching for his hand. He jerked away and took another step back.

"I ain't Baan!" he cried. "I am Ashtakash." He winced as he did each time he spoke his own name aloud.

"Is that the name that means 'bone'?" she asked.

"It means more than 'bone'," he growled. "It tells what I am."

"What does it mean?" Eafrida prompted, though she dreaded the answer.

Shame drove his gaze to the ground, and he snarled, "It means 'stabs with bone.'"

"I do not understand," she said, furrowing her brow.

Breathless with humiliation and holding on desperately to keep from weeping from the shame, he snarled brokenly, his voice shaking, "It means... I _fuck_... _everything_."

Taken aback, Eafrida recoiled. She'd only heard him swear once, when describing the bad people. Then she realized what he was saying, and a look of revulsion contorted her face.

Gasping, he went on, as if he were purging a poison. "I fuck... whiteskins... females... _males_..." His voice hitched hard as sobs broke through. Abject horror at what he'd done was clear upon his face. "_Chih- children_." He shuddered violently as the urge to vomit nearly overwhelmed him. "Orcs... Uruks... I fuck everything I see." His knees gave way, and he sank to the ground, his hands covering his face as he howled in tormented despair.

Eafrida clamped her hand over her mouth to stay her own need to vomit. Her Baan... when she admired his strengths, she never imagined how revolting were his weaknesses. What he was saying was horrific, far worse than she _could_ have imagined. Yet he was not finished.

He regained some measure of control and stared through shimmering yellow eyes into the west, as though he could see the camp, or the Westfold where his kind had wrought such horrors. He looked as one who had reached the bottom, for whom no punishment was too great, or undeserved. His voice lost what life it had, and he stared into the distance as one who had suffered a terrible shock.

"I have torn babes from their mother's arms," he whispered. "I ripped their throats out... before their mother's eyes." Lips trembling, he moaned, fresh tears threatening to engulf him once more. "I have... fucked daughters... in front of their fathers." He crumpled and sobbed as though the words stabbed like knives. "I fucked sons in front of their mothers." His voice was nearly incoherent as he finished. "I... have taken... children... like Aelfled... I have torn their skin off... while they... screamed." Overcome completely, he went down on his hands and knees and howled.

Eafrida was struck speechless. How could she love him now, when he was as bad as, if not worse than, the Orcs her folk had fought for generations?

"I have fucked... my own kind," he sobbed, "just because I _could_. To prove I was _strong_." Slowly raising his head, he looked into Eafrida's face, and saw the distrust, the fear...

He deserved far worse than that.

"I... I... am one of the _bad_ people," he told her. "I have done so... _many_ bad things. I ain't fit to live among the good people." Hanging his head, he wept. "Ain't fit to live at _all_."

Eafrida watched him dissolve in shame and horror. By his own words, she placed herself in terrible danger by sharing his bed last night. He might have... he _could_ have... But he did not. He did none of the things he claimed, and the realization that he _had_ done them before was destroying him now, bit by bit, right before her eyes.

She slowly calmed. There had been no threat to her virtue, in truth. There never was. She knew _Baan_; she fell into the arms of _Baan_. She never came within a league of Ashtakash. With calm assurity, she knew she never would.

"Baan," she said, and he flared angrily.

"_I ain't Baan_!" he roared, lurching to his feet. Startled, Eafrida stepped back. He winced and looked away.

"Yes, you are," she replied, finding her strength with each word. "Ashtakash feels no remorse... but Baan does. Ashtakash shows no restraint, feels no pity... but Baan does. Ashtakash does... bad things, but... but Baan _does not_." Boldly stepping forward, she took hold of his rough-skinned, black-clawed hands. Though he tried to pull away, she refused to let go. "What Ashtakash has done... causes you such pain... If he still lived in you, his deeds would not be so harmful."

"I tried to fuck you," Baan breathed. "When you were down, I went for you like... like I have always done."

"But you remembered who you truly are," she replied, "and you stopped."

"Who am I?" he asked desperately.

"You are Baan."

"But... I remember being Ashtakash." He tightened his grip on her hands, as though she would fly away at any moment. "I see... everything." He flinched and grimaced, but there was no escape. "He is still there..."

"Ashtakash was slain at Parth Galen," Eafrida said with conviction. "And Baan was born on the river."

"He haunts me still," Baan said shakily.

"He must be banished. He must not draw breath again," she said softly. "I... I will help you discard him, Baan."

"I want to forget," he said anxiously. "I do not want to remember... being that... _thing_... What I was... what I did..." Looking imploringly into her eyes, he whispered, "My Master... told me to do things... and I did them. I never questioned. I never... resisted. I... did not... _want_ to."

"Does your Master call you still?"

"He is gone; has been for many days," Baan replied, then curled his lip. "I hear another now. I do not know what he says, but he whispers... I do not heed him."

"Whose voice do you listen to now?"

"My own."

"You listen to _Baan_," she said confidently.

He shrugged. "Maybe I do. I cannot trust Ashtakash. How can I trust Baan?"

"I do," Eafrida said, stroking his cheek. "I trust Baan. He is far stronger than Ashtakash."

"I hope he is," Baan growled. "I do not want... Ashtakash... near you. Not for a moment." He resisted her touch at first, then sagged and closed his eyes, letting himself be comforted. "If I ever see him coming for you, I will slay him."

"He will not come," she breathed, and hesitantly drew him closer. "You know his face. He will not show it again."

Baan suddenly jerked his head up and stared at her in horror. "He _has_ come. In battle, he has come."

"No, Baan," she soothed, urging him into her embrace. "I do not think Ashtakash would have _defended_ the people of our clan, do you?"

"No," he acknowledged, and released some of his tension. "He would not."

"Of course not," she whispered. She gently rubbed his back, and he relaxed more, pressing his cheek to hers. "I am certain he fears Baan's wrath, for Baan will ever be my defender." Turning slightly, she softly kissed his ear. "I feel safe with him."

"It's me that feels safe," Baan rumbled low and breathlessly. His arms couldn't pull her close enough. Dipping forward, he kissed the hollow between her neck and shoulder. Hearing her catch her breath, he planted slow kisses up her neck to her ear. "Don't think... he'd wanna risk it... good with a sword, you are... put'im on the run..."

"Baan," Eafrida sighed, closing her eyes. "Dear Baan. I do so love you."

"Don't know what that is," he said distractedly as he sought her lips. "But I'll take it."

"It... means," she murmured between kisses, "that I... want you... need you... only you... and I shall have... no other... you alone... my Baan..."

"Ugly as I am," he grunted, withdrawing slightly.

Eafrida frowned and slipped her hand behind his head, preventing him from retreating from her. Fixing him with a stern glare, she said, "None of that, now. You are Baan, and Baan is a good person. Baan is one of us. That makes you... beautiful."

He smiled a little, then leaned his forehead against hers. "You are more beautiful than I am. I want no other but you as well. Eafrida," he said quietly, looking away in shame, "I want... to mate with you. I've wanted it since I first saw you. I won't... I promise... I won't try. I just... forgive me. I won't blame you... if that... changes things."

"Baan," she said with a touch of amusement, ducking her head to peer at him shyly, "why ever would I change my mind over so... natural a thing? What you call 'mating,' I would call making love. You have not forced your attentions upon me, even when I gave you ample opportunity to do so." A smile threatened her lips and her eyes twinkled. "I think... were we afforded another...opportunity..." She lightly traced her finger along the hem of his tunic front.

Swallowing hard, he found it difficult to think. "I... would try... to please you, but... I don't..."

"I am sure you would... please me, Baan," Eafrida whispered, brushing her lips lightly over his. "We shall please each other. Just... not at this moment." Sighing, she drew back from him. Her brow furrowed. "We should return. When I left to follow you, our folk seemed to have the advantage. They will worry if we cannot be found."

Shaking himself from the oddly comforting and relaxing thought of mat-... making love with Eafrida, Baan nodded. "I think Alric will be angry, not worried," he said wryly.

Eafrida grinned as they walked back to the camp. "I can handle him. Eadgyd is a worse matter. But Aelfled will certainly vouch for you. That will go a long way."

Baan chuckled. "Milady commands me."

"It is fortunate you have not forgotten that," Eafrida replied. "She would be ever so cross if she had to remind you."

Their laughter inspired companionable closeness, and before long, his hand found hers. As they neared the camp, Baan felt strengthened by her acceptance. That she could look him in the face and not recoil... kiss his lips and not curl hers with disgust... hold his hand and not a sword to slay him... Perhaps he _could_ leave Ashtakash behind on that far away battlefield. He felt little connection to the beast beyond foul memories. If _she_ could look at him and see only Baan... perhaps he could as well.

Baan's instincts, acute and aware, broke into his thoughts and urged caution. Gripping Eafrida's hand, he pulled her down into the tall grass within sight of the camp. Her own instincts made her go quiet at his side.

The camp was silent and empty. The shelter that was Hengist's was ripped to shreds. A horse lay on its side, unmoving, and beyond it were at least ten of Sighard's chickens in bloody tatters.

A panicked scream was building within Eafrida as she slowly rose and approached. Baan stepped in front of her with his sword drawn, sniffing the air.

"Béma," she breathed tightly, looking around. The one horse they could see, now that they were closer, had been split open, its still steaming entrails spread upon the ground. Averting her eyes lest her gorge rise, Eafrida went to the destroyed hut. All the children had been gathered there; there was no sign of them now. She did not know whether to be relieved, or...

"They have all gone," she said quietly, uncomprehending.

"Not all," Baan growled. When she joined him, he thrust an arm out, holding her back from rushing forward. A wailing scream tore from her throat, and she turned her face away, sobbing on Baan's shoulder.

Wilburh, never quite as good with a sword as the others of Sighard's family, lay spread-eagle on the ground, staring at the sky with sightless eyes. Her clothing was torn almost completely off her body, and claw marks showed bright red upon her pale flesh. There was no mistaking the torment she suffered before the Orcs did her a mercy by splitting open her abdomen and tearing out her guts.

Fury welled inside Baan. He gripped Eafrida firmly, holding her up as her knees weakened and threatened to sink her to the ground. His breathing quickened. By the scent, a good deal more Orcs arrived after he and Eafrida left. And he knew exactly where they went, likely taking the clan with them for 'entertainment.'


	16. Vengeance

**Vengeance**

"Shut it up," Zukur growled, poring over the crudely drawn map spread on the ground by the fire. Maybe it was day, but the Eye's darkness blotted out the hated sun and obliged his servants to light fires for looking. Marching in the dark was no hardship; discerning lines on a parchment was another thing entirely.

"Don't know when to keep their mouths shut," his second muttered as he ambled over to the huddled whiteskins. "Oy! Shut yer yaps or you'll get more'uh the same!" One of the older ones covered the mouth of her young pup, holding it close. Smirking, Fulorz deliberately stroked the thick length of wavy red hair secured to his belt. A couple of the women winced and looked away. Very satisfying.

He could almost see the cloud of fear hovering about the lot of them, could nearly taste it, the stench was so strong.

"When we get another bite, eh?" Fulorz leered, eying one of the younger females.

"In a bit," Zukur replied, engrossed in the map. It was drawn by an Orc that had likely last seen this part of the Horselords' region two centuries ago. Apparently one as unobservant as he was unlettered. Zukur was having a hard time pinpointing their current location. He intended to keep them to this side of the river now that they'd cut themselves loose and made it across. Zukur didn't like dealing with armies, nor did he like being dragged by the short hairs. Let the ambitious ones with their noses in their betters' asses have at the whiteskins and their armies; Zukur's needs were far simpler.

Fuck whiteskins where it hurt the most, and where they expected it least.

It was a nice haul, Zukur thought with satisfaction. Twenty whiteskins, mostly females since their males were off to meet the main force Zukur had gradually peeled his own company away from over the course of several days. Well, nineteen now. Couldn't keep the lads from sampling one of the spoils. Let this lot shake in their shoes for a bit before passing another of them around for sport. Zukur had forty in his command, plus the two from the raiding party that survived the fight at the whiteskin camp. Ten of the party dead plus the four scouts... a lot of Orc blood spilled that needed answering. There wasn't any better recompense _he_ could think of than a few rounds of cock-in-ass with the yellowhairs.

Making the males watch just added to the fun. Zukur smirked. Whiteskins always got themselves all worked up over their females, he mused. About as much fun to watch _them_ lose their heads as it was to bugger their mates.

He licked his lips in anticipation.

* * *

Aelfled couldn't open her eyes. Like the others, she'd been helpless to do anything about Wilburh, and watched with horror as one Orc after another... She burrowed her face deeper in Eadgyd's breast, trying to blot out the screams she could still seem to hear. Whimpering, she tried not to recall when the wall of the shelter was suddenly rent by swords and several Orcs poured in through the gash. Beornflaede fought bravely, but could not stem the tide even with Osgar at her side. Once they'd grabbed her baby, she surrendered. Osgar stood over his mother and Aelfled, knife at the ready, but he'd never been in battle before; his first blow was easily dodged. Knocking him senseless after that was a small matter.

All of them were taken alive. Aelfled supposed that was fortunate. Maybe.

And maybe Wilburh wouldn't be dead if Aelfled hadn't wanted a strip of fur from a dead rabbit so badly.

Eadgyd tried to sooth her sobbing daughter, but there was little she could do. With grim certainty, she knew they would all die painfully. Worse, they would be raped, one by one, before granted the mercy of death.

The tide had been turning in their favor as the raiding Orcs were bested. The fighters had been looking forward to a rest. Then like an unrelenting storm surge, an overwhelming horde of Orcs washed over them. They fought on, but once the shelter with the children was attacked, they cried for mercy.

She now wondered if they hadn't doomed the children to worse torments than a quick death in the chaos of a battle.

The men and boys were bound and taken to the other side of the haphazard encampment. The women were not bound, nor were they enclosed by any barriers. Two Orcs stood vigil over the women, while four kept the rest at bay. Only perhaps a half dozen yards separated the two groups, but any attempt to break free and cover the distance, come to the others' aid, would likely be suicide and help no one. The camp didn't sprawl; the many Orcs within were bivouaced in close quarters, leaving several within a few yards of the prisoners. There would be little to no chance of joining forces against them without weapons.

Eadgyd's eyes passed over each woman in their group; Eadburga and Cynburga sat on either side of Mildgyd, looking pale and shivering. Githa and Theodhilde clung to one another on Eadburga's other side. Cynwise couldn't get her arms around all of them at once, so sat behind Mildgyd and held _her_ as protectively as she could. Beornwyn sobbed in Beornflaede's arms, both distraught over what happened to Wilburh. Beornflaede tried desperately to keep her Emma, fussing with hunger, from making noise and rousing the Orcs. Godgyfu held her daughter Ebba in her arms and stared ahead at nothing.

Eadgyd wondered what became of Eafrida, but just thinking about the girl's fate brought an onslaught of grief. None had seen her or her... body when the Orcs overwhelmed them. Come to think of it, she couldn't remember seeing Baan, either...

"All right, have yuh one," the leader snarled impatiently, waving dismissively to his second in command. Obviously, the other Orc had pestered him enough. The women stiffened with fear and held one another tightly. "Better share it, though. Ain't gonna be responsible for your ass gettin' a poundin' cause yuh got greedy."

"Young'uns is the sweetest," the Orc purred, and made a grab for Theodhilde. Cynburga went wild, and leaped to her feet to keep her daughter from being taken. Eadburga was right behind her.

Both women were punched in the face and dropped by the guards. Others were subdued at knifepoint as the terrified girl was dragged off. Yet still, Cynburga scrambled clumsily after her.

"My baby! My baby!" she screamed, and Theodhilde tried to pull free. The Orc who held her was too strong; he was also devoid of patience. Snarling, he cuffed the girl hard, staggering her, and dragged her to the center of the camp. Five more guards were needed to quell the riot in the women's corner.

Several blows with a sap were required to put Cynburga down.

Once Hengist caught sight of the next victim, he very nearly successfully led a charge to break through their own guards. Bound they might have been, but the men used their bodies as weapons as much as they were able. In the end, close to half the encampment was engaged in restraining the prisoners while the rest plundered the spoils.

Several were disappointed; girls with only twelve summers didn't last as long as their elders.

Zukur was one of the unfortunate ones, and took great pleasure in carving and distributing the meat because of it. For amusement, he stuck the female's head on a post where her folk couldn't miss seeing it. He'd certainly seen enough of his own kind done that way; see how _they_ liked it.

Being the leader, he decided he should get the choice of the next. He rather liked the one who kept weeping. He liked it when they wept. The more tears the better. Chuckling under his breath, he went back to the huddle of females.

With three Orcs striking the others viciously to cull his chosen from the herd, Zukur grabbed the weeping female by the hair and hauled her up.

"You're next, my lovely," he growled. Her wailing had turned to shrieks as she tried to free her hair from his iron grip. "I'll be havin' you first, though. Ain't a young'un like them others. One'uh them codgers your mate? Maybe he'll like seein' you again, eh?"

Snickering, he dragged her from the group and headed for the same spot still slicked with the other one's blood. Zukur glanced toward the males, making sure he had their attention and they were well-guarded. To his satisfaction, another of them was near killing himself to come to her aid. Delicious. Then he looked back over his shoulder to the females.

What he saw puckered his brow in confusion for a split second. That was all he was given.

Before Zukur died, he saw the strangest thing: an Uruk by build, yet too man-like to be one of the Eye's. Was it one of the Hand's? Whatever its breeding, it charged him with tremendous speed and brought its sword down upon his head, cleaving his skull and ending the speculative wonder.

He failed, while transfixed, to see the wave of infuriated, and now armed, women behind the Uruk.

Baan barely freed his sword of Beornwyn's attempted assailant's head before bringing it around in a sweeping arc to decapitate the first Orc to recover from the shock of his entrance enough to attack. Eafrida, a wrapped bundle of swords in one arm, deftly deflected a flanking attack on her way to the men.

"Béma be praised!" Alric cried with relief, and head-butted a nearby Orc in the face. The promise of weapons close at hand urged fresh determination from the elders, and they swiftly gave their guards reason to be elsewhere. Eafrida tossed the swords at their feet and cut their bonds. Alric and his fellow elders armed themselves and rushed to battle.

"Redwald, Osgar," Eafrida said sharply, "take Cearl back that way." She pointed and shoved the three boys off to where Mildgyd was hiding with Aelfled and Emma. It took her a moment to realize that Osgar's hair had been sheared off, leaving it barely long enough to brush his shoulders.

Still reeling from the horror of watching Theodhilde suffer, remembering Wilburh's treatment, and being on the verge of seeing the same fate befall his beloved wife, Sighard had but one thing on his mind: spill as much Orc blood as he could manage on his way to her side.

A small voice at the back of his mind whispered of the Orc who _saved_ her. He acknowledged that voice, and bade it remind him later. Right now, vengeance was owed for his son's wife. Theodhilde was not of his blood either, but he would avenge her as if she was.

The element of surprise turned the battle in the clan's favor. Not the least surprising to the Orcs of Mordor was the clan's ally. A few died thinking a previously disregarded face among their many had shown up to aid them.

* * *

Baan had time to think on things as he and Eafrida gathered weapons and wrapped them securely so they would not rattle. She had expressed a degree of acceptance for what he was, and embraced him... kissed him... comforted him... Perhaps these things meant she forgave him.

He could not seem to forgive himself. Nor could he wipe that stain from his mind. Ashtakash would always be there, lurking in the shadows, threatening to show himself. He did not believe he could hide from Ashtakash or keep the beast's urges from rising to the surface. Did he not desire Eafrida? Did he not look on her and harden? If his body did not listen to _his_ entreaties to _stop feeling those things_, whose did it heed?

He'd reminded himself, while they hurried to the clan's aid, that she seemed open to mating... making love. Whatever it was _she_ wanted to call it, that's how _he_ thought of it. The _snaga_ Orcs in Isengard sometimes talked about it. True, he rarely listened to them going on about their mates and their whelps and how much better it was when the Eye guided them. If the talk went on past his tolerance, Baan... _Ashtakash_ simply broke their necks to silence the chatter. But they spoke of their mates as being part of them... as though being separated left an emptiness of sorts. That emptiness was often, but not always, filled by mating.

This was what he thought of Eafrida, he realized when they were crouched in sight of the Orcs' encampment. If anything... _anything_ happened to her, he would go mad. And if it were his hand that caused harm... he would have to kill himself. The question was, why must he wait until _after_ he had hurt her?

He was resolved to remove any possibility that he might harm her by the time they saw Beornwyn taken away.

Now engaged in battle, and thirsting for blood and revenge for what was done to Wilburh; near frothing at the mouth over Theodhilde's head perched on a pike – this was his _clan_ – Baan was reckless to the point of foolhardy. He had seen the dull-witted berserkers at their work, and had he been mindful of himself, he might have recognized their singular focus, ignoring all distractions that might deter them from their primary goal of slaying as many as possible before the culmination of their own wounds brought them down.

* * *

Without the backing of the larger force, Zukur's small company had little stomach for fighting when the odds were against them. Even the death of their leader was not sufficient incentive to carry on and seek vengeance, not when so many of them were dying. Yet the whiteskins stubbornly refused to yield this time.

One or two Orcs died with their last thought being a question of whether despoiling those females in front of their folk might have been a poor decision. A few whose faces were recognized as participants by their singular features might have been dismayed to find themselves emasculated, had they lived long enough to have such thoughts.

Discretion seemed to be the better part of saving their wretched skins, and a handful slinked off in the tall grasses, hoping to go unnoticed.

They didn't factor in the superior tracking skills of the Isengarder.

Baan saw five duck into hiding and slither away in what they clearly hoped was a sufficiently stealthy manner. His warrior instincts told him they must not live to alert any others, particularly not the larger force spied across the river. Downing his current foe with an impatient sword thrust through the throat, Baan took off after the deserters. Nothing like caution entered his mind; the Uruk focused on the scent trail and thundered across the plains in hot pursuit. The additional insult of seeing Osgar's hair tied to the belt of one spurred Baan to greater fury.

They could hear the larger Uruk closing in, his huffing and growling breaths getting louder. Fulorz glanced back to see the head and shoulders of the beast coming after them in the grass, eyes ablaze and teeth bared. Whimpering, he purposely tripped one of his fellows, sending him sprawling. Maybe that would slow the Uruk down.

While Baan's stroke didn't quite behead the fallen Orc in passing, it came close. He never even broke stride.

Before this day, Fulorz knew little about those Isengarders to the west. They were big, he'd heard. Tolerated the sun far better than a pure Orc could. Fiercely loyal to their Master.

Never once had he heard of one siding with whiteskins. He would've liked to ask about it. Now didn't seem like a good time as he ran for his life with one of the Hand's dogs at his heels.

"He's gainin'!" cried one of his fellow runners, and Fulorz had half a mind to spill another one in the Uruk's path to see if he'd have better luck a second time. His decision was made for him.

Out of nowhere, the ground fell away into a dried up river bed, likely feeding into the delta once upon a time. Long ago waters cut into the earth, leaving a five-foot-deep trench. The four remaining Orcs tumbled head over heels down the embankment and lay sprawled and winded at the bottom.

Fulorz shook his head in a daze and looked up in time to see the infuriated Isengarder leaping down on top of them.

* * *

Not one of the clan walked away unscathed from the battle. Even Emma would bear a scar from rough handling while in her mother's arms. As the last of the Orcs was defeated, Sighard embraced his wife, who up to that point had grimly wielded a blade at his side. Now that the threat was gone, she allowed herself to dissolve in tears, the terror of what might have been finally reaching up to clutch her heart. Beornwyn held onto Sighard as though he were a dream she dreaded waking from.

Hengist and Cynwise feared having to drag Cynburga away. There was little enough left of Theodhilde to bury, yet her mother seemed unwilling to leave the girl's head behind.

"Fetch a sack," Hengist finally said stiffly. Eadburga reluctantly searched one of the tents and came up with a filthy cloth bag that had held rations. Trying not to weep or vomit, Hengist removed Theodhilde's head and hid it away in the sack. Alric gripped the elder's shoulder.

"Let us go," he said quietly. "I cannot bear being here another moment."

"We'll have to move closer to Edoras," Hengist said hoarsely. "We ought to have done so... before." Swallowing hard, he looked away. Tears formed in his eyes, but he held them at bay.

Alric nodded. "That we will do. Let us gather our folk and our goods. There is still daylight left." Turning to his daughter-in-law, he said, "Where is Eafrida?"

Eadgyd held Aelfled against her hip. "She has gone to pay her respects to Sighard's family." Biting her lip, she added in an undertone, "She worries for Baan."

Frowning, Alric looked around. The Orc was nowhere to be seen. "What has become of Baan? He wasn't slain, surely?"

"I do not know," Eadgyd shrugged helplessly.

"I know where he's gone to," Osgar said quietly nearby. "Saw him. There was a few what thought they might run off, but he didn't let'em. He's chasin'em down."

Starting with alarm, Alric hissed, "Alone? Is he mad?" He had seen the Orc mercilessly cut down at least half a dozen Orcs with his own eyes. Where before he might have been wary of such a display of viciousness, he now understood perhaps a little better what went on in the mind of an Orc. Baan clearly knew to whom he owed his loyalty; members of the clan, he aided; he checked for wounds; he defended when they were pressed too hard and needed relief. The Orcs who meant them harm, had _done_ harm to the clan, were given no quarter.

Thinking about it, Alric wondered if Baan had _always_ fought so... recklessly. The elder had personally witnessed Baan receiving wounds that, had he made even a small effort at self-defense, could have been avoided. It didn't quite ring true. Such disregard for his own survival seemed... out of place.

"Eafrida," Alric called, and the distressed woman came over from where she was consoling Cynburga. "We must go. Do you know which direction Baan went?"

Biting her lip, she looked about, trying to get her bearings. All had been chaos in the Orcs' encampment, and while he was at her side most of the time, once he caught the scent of the deserters, he tore away in pursuit. It was difficult to remember...

"I think he went that way," she said shakily. "Grandfather, I _must_ find him. I fear... he is not himself."

His own concerns seemed to be mirrored and magnified on Eafrida's face. Nodding, he said, "You and I shall go after him." Glancing at Sighard, he said, "Take everyone back and break camp. Try to find one horse to pull the wagon; I do not think Mildgyd can manage very far on her feet. We make for Edoras with all speed. Eafrida and I will look for Baan, then catch you up."

Sighard grabbed Alric's arm. "See that you find him. He... I owe him... an apology."

Alric arched his brow, but said nothing. He only nodded.

"Grandfather?" Aelfled whimpered, and Alric knelt before her.

"How fare you, dearest?" he said gently, smoothing her mussed hair.

"It's... all my fault, isn't it?" she asked in a small voice. "Wilburh and Theodhilde would still..."

"No," he said firmly. "You mustn't think that. I _promise_ you, those Orcs would have found us no matter whether you went back to camp or not. As for the larger group, they were already heading in our direction." Shaking his head, he said, "I am only upset with you for the danger you put _yourself_ in, not for the rest of us. In truth, had we not discovered you missing, we likely would have been far less prepared when the first group came upon us." Cupping her tear-stained cheek, he said softly, "Think no more about it. All is as well as can be expected."

Aelfled seemed somewhat unconvinced, but let herself be consoled nonetheless.

Standing again, Alric nodded to Sighard, who took charge of the clan and led them back toward the camp. Alric and Eafrida gripped their swords firmly, and went in the direction Baan was last seen taking.

The trail was not difficult to follow. Less than a hundred yards beyond the encampment, Eafrida nearly fell over a dead orc lying in the tall grass. Exchanging a nervous look with her grandfather, Eafrida steeled herself. If it was a running battle... would he stand a better chance on his own? Osgar said he thought there might be five or six; what if there were more? Or another camp further along? She didn't _want_ to think of such things.

"There is something you are not telling me," Alric said as they trotted along the Orcs' trail.

Startled, Eafrida shot a look at Alric. Did he suspect? Was it obvious that Baan had been restored? She wondered now if she should keep his deeds a secret between her and Baan. Surely if any in the clan knew of the things he had done, particularly so soon after similar atrocities were performed before their eyes to their own kin, they would turn against him and slay him in a heartbeat.

Worrying her lip, she said evasively, "What do you mean? I am sure I don't know."

"I haven't anything to compare to, but it seemed to me... well, Baan seemed... heedless of his own safety in the battle," he replied hesitantly. "Did he seem so when you fought the first group together?"

Far from being relieved that Alric was not asking after Baan's recovered memories, she grew alarmed wondering if Baan still believed himself unfit to live. Might he purposefully fail to defend himself, in hopes that his foe would spare him the indignity of taking his own life? Her already great need to find him became a desperate one, and she began to run.

The trail ended at the streambed. Eafrida cried out as she hastily scrambled down the embankment. There were four bodies sprawled at the bottom, their violent ends clear in their poses and the quantity of black blood spilled in the trench. A few yards away, a fifth had dragged himself to rest beneath the shade of a tree leaning precariously over the eroded embankment.

"Baan!" Eafrida sobbed, rushing to his side. He was sitting up with his back against the slope, his head hanging down. One hand clutched his abdomen, the other lay palm up with the sword hilt ungrasped upon it. At the sound of Eafrida's voice, he slowly raised his head.

Blood soaked the tattered remains of his shirt. A few open cuts were upon his face as well. He breathed shallowly, and every breath seemed to weaken him further.

"Dear Baan," Eafrida breathed, touching his face. He frowned, forcing himself to focus on her voice, her touch...

"Leave me be," he whispered. He closed his eyes, unable to look at her any longer lest he lose his resolve. "Better... this way. You'll be safe."

"Don't you _dare_," she growled, and threw her arms around him. "Don't you leave me! Alric! Help me, _please_!"


	17. Reasoning

**Reasoning**

To his dismay, Baan woke up. His eyes opened slowly, blinking against the light. There were no clouds in the sky; they must have traveled beyond the reach of the Eye's storm while he slept. Gradually, his senses informed him that he was in the clan's wagon; truly, he was being shaken and jostled most uncomfortably on the dry, uneven ground. Pain in his torso, centered at his belly where he dimly recalled a sword had swept wildly, distracted him from further thought. One wheel dipped sharply in and out of a rut, forcing a groan from him.

"There now, Baan," a voice said soothingly, and he felt a cool hand rest upon his forehead. "All is well."

The voice was familiar, yet he could not place it, and turned his head slightly to see the speaker. He knew her instantly by the shock of red hair her son had inherited. Mildgyd smiled kindly.

Memories came back, of being urged to walk with Eafrida's and Alric's aid for they could not carry him. He now recalled that they were not that far from the camp, and all of the clan was still there trying to track down a horse for the wagon. Baan hastened their search by sniffing the air; his keen sense of smell told him where a horse could be found, and it was quickly retrieved. When the last face he wanted to see before letting himself die would have preferably been Eafrida's, it was Sighard's, tear-streaked and begging forgiveness for thinking him a bloodthirsty monster.

"I held such distrust in you, Baan," he'd said. "Stubborn as you are, you refused to prove me right. My son has lost his wife, but because of you, I was spared his grief. I am... grateful for that."

Baan nodded uncomfortably to the elder, unsure how to respond. To his mind, the distrust Sighard felt had been, and still was, entirely justified. Baan was, after all, an Orc. He'd denied it to himself for a long time, but he was fairly certain no one _here _was fooled. He might have saved Sighard from grieving, but Wilburh's husband would return from war to an empty hut. Theodhilde's father would no doubt be grief-stricken by the loss of his daughter. Imagining their faces when the news was received made him hope he would not be there when it was delivered. He did not think they would give him a swift ending. Better to let the wounds he'd sustained get the better of him now. Relief was in sight, he realized. Darkness was calling and he wished only to embrace it while he had the chance.

The relief of unconsciousness came, but he did not slip further no matter how he begged for it. As long as he remained alive, though, he supposed he could have another look at his mate. As a reminder.

"Where is Eafrida?" he asked hoarsely. His throat was dry enough to have gone without water for a day at least, and he frowned. How long had he been unaware?

Mildgyd seemed to know his need, and helped him drink from a water skin. "She is a bit of a distance away. Because she was relatively uninjured, she marches with sword drawn where she can meet any threat that comes. The others who are able to do so range about as well." Glancing over the wagon's side to her sisters walking together, a look of worry crossed her face. "Cynburga mourns. If our sister were not here for her..." She sighed and bowed her head. "Twas a terrible thing to see, and one not soon forgotten."

"We should've run faster...," Baan said, and Mildgyd shook her head.

Patting his shoulder, she replied, "You did what you could, as quickly as you were able. None expected more. In truth, we did not expect as much. We thought you and Eafrida were slain."

Baan grunted a bitter laugh. "Worthless Mordor filth. Ask one thing of them, and they cannot deliver."

Tilting her head curiously, Mildgyd said, "What did you ask?"

He shrugged and looked away. "Kill one Isengarder," he muttered. "Just one. There were five of them; could they not manage one?"

"Perhaps the one was too strong for them," she suggested quietly, watching his face. "Perhaps he found something worth fighting for."

"He did," Baan growled, his voice shaking. "Worth dying for. Should've been left there to do it."

"Die, Baan?" she said softly. "Surely you do not wish such a terrible thing."

Glaring at her, he snarled, "I remember. I am no better than those who killed Theodhilde and Wilburh. I have _done_ those things. Do not tell me it is a terrible thing to spare the clan – spare _Eafrida_ – such a... monster."

"I see," she said thoughtfully. "You recall now, who and what you were."

"Yeah," he replied, looking away again. "I've done things... I've done terrible things. Should've left me." He swallowed a hard lump forming in his throat. "Should've left me there."

"Oh, Baan," she sighed. "You are so young. You believe your death would give Eafrida comfort, do you?" She shook her head. "My dear boy, Osgar... you know, he looks very little like his father. As you can see," she said, plucking at her own rust-colored curls, "he has his coloring from me. When I look at him, I cannot see Eastmund unless he smiles. Osgar has his father's smile." She paused and found Baan looking at her curiously.

"I have not seen Osgar smile," Baan said uncertainly.

"I expect you haven't," she replied. "He has not had much to smile about for over a year. Not since he and Eastmund last hunted together." Her face clouded with painful memory. "I have forgotten what he looked like. Is that not strange? For months, he was in my thoughts, waking and sleeping. I missed him so much, given the chance to follow him into death, I would have taken it but for Osgar. Now... I cannot see his face. I imagine I shall soon forget the sound of his laughter as well. But I shall never lose the love I feel for him. I shall not stop looking for him in my son's face. I shall forever see him in my dreams, so real yet... faceless..."

Closing her eyes for a moment, she composed herself lest the tears she kept at bay so not to worry her family made an appearance.

"Baan," she said evenly, "if you think to spare Eafrida pain by ending your life, then you know nothing of love, or a woman's heart." She looked him in the eyes once more. Had his been the same as the Orcs that tormented them, she might have found it difficult to look at him, but his were different. They had an intensity about them that made one feel vulnerable, yet a warmth that told of the heart that beat within his breast. The Orcs had been cold-eyed; their red eyes told of hatred and anger, the absence of pity, an omission of remorse. Baan's eyes were filled to the brim with these things.

"But the things I have done," Baan protested. "I cannot forget. It will not go away."

"For better or for worse," Mildgyd said quietly, "whether it is right or wrong, Eafrida loves you. She would no sooner recover from the loss of you than I have for my Eastmund."

"But if I remain," he growled, "If I am not... dealt with, I might hurt her. Do... those things again..."

"When did you last... feel a need to cause pain?" she asked, arching her brow.

It was a simple question, and he answered it readily. "In the battle," he said.

"To whom?" she pressed. "When you felt the need to do harm, where did your need guide you?"

"The Orcs," Baan snarled angrily. Then he faltered; was he not an Orc himself? No matter that his Master called him and his folk 'Uruk-hai.' Were they really any different, beneath the surface?

"And why should you wish to cause _them_ such suffering?"

Baan looked incredulously at her. "For Wilburh," he snapped impatiently. "For Theodhilde."

"The Orcs were enemies of the clan, were they not?" she asked.

Frowning, he nodded. "Yes."

"You fought fiercely," Mildgyd said. "You fought to avenge our folk. You fought in defense of the clan. You fought as _one of us_."

Snorting, he looked away and growled, "I have done the same things. I am no better than they."

"I contend that you _are_," she said dismissively. "When was the last time you felt... compelled to do harm to _our_ kind?"

"Before... I was wounded," he said. "Before I was hurt and lost my memories."

"And you have not wanted to do such things since, have you?"

"No." His brow furrowed with impatience over the questions. He could not see the point Mildgyd seemed determined to get to.

"When you did not know who or what you were, did you want to do those things?"

"No. I knew it was wrong."

"Then you are one of us," she said triumphantly. "Hold on to that. Do not make Eafrida suffer by forgetting that simple truth. You are not that Orc anymore. You are Baan. And Baan is one of us."

"I am _not_," he snarled. "I am one of _them_, and I should have been left to die. Eafrida would be spared the shame of me, if nothing else."

"Oh, now you believe she should be ashamed of you, is that it?" Mildgyd asked provocatively, a slight smile upon her face. "Baan, if being with you shamed her, she would not have shared your bed two nights past – yes, we _all_ know what was screamed at the top of Alric's lungs; the tents are not solid brick walls – and she would not have wept over you quite so unabashedly when you collapsed from your injuries."

"Her father and brother fight my kind in Gondor," he pointed out, and she shushed him.

"All the men of our clan do so, and we will deal with them upon their return. You are _one of us_; you have proven yourself time and again. Your coming may have disrupted our lives in many ways, but to my way of thinking, it may have also turned the tide and saved us."

"The men will despise me," he protested feebly. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to counter Mildgyd's gentle arguments.

"As I said, we shall deal with them when the time comes. If _Sighard_ is convinced of your loyalty; if Hengist can vouch for your goodness; if Alric will defend Eafrida's affection for you... Well, I believe your case is all but won, Baan."

Baan drew a deep breath. "It will hurt her if I die."

"Yes, it will."

He made one last attempt to make this woman see his worry. "What if I... hurt her while I live?"

"Do you want to?"

"No!" he snapped indignantly.

"Then you will not," she concluded. Eying him sternly, she said, "But sure as you selfishly take your own life or arrange for it to be taken, you _will_ hurt her, most grievously."

Slumping in defeat, he sighed. "What do I do now?"

Mildgyd smiled. "Baan, you are already doing it. You protect her. You respect her. I never thought I would look in the face of an Orc and say these things, but you love her. I knew it the moment I saw you." Thoughtfully, she added, "I was frightened by it, in fact."

"That is because it is wrong...," he growled, and she interrupted him with a laugh.

"No! It is _not_ wrong," she chuckled, patting his arm. "What you feel is not wrong. That one of your kind feels it so strongly, I confess, is not something I ever imagined. But it is not wrong."

"I desire her," Baan pointed out with slight embarrassment. "_That_ is wrong..."

"No," she laughed. "No it isn't. If you take what you desire without consent, _that_ is wrong. But if you give, and _she_ gives, there is nothing more right."

"I want... to give her peace. I... I want to please her. See her smile... and laugh." He had never imagined that he would want such things of a female. His recollection of Ashtakash's desires was completely the opposite.

"I believe you will, on all counts," Mildgyd assured him warmly.

"I am... afraid," he said quietly.

"No young man who has embarked on the path of love has _not_ been afraid," she said with a smile. "There is no race and no hurry. The clan accepts you. Even Sighard," she added with a laugh.

"He never liked me."

"He is not... an easy man to win over," she allowed as politely as she could. "But you saved Beornwyn from a terrible fate. Eafrida said it was your conviction and loyalty to the clan that firmed her resolve to come to our aid, for she felt helpless and without hope. Against so many, she nearly succumbed to despair, as did we all. But you lent her your strength, and therein lay our salvation."

"I wish we'd been faster," he breathed, his voice breaking. "Theodhilde...

"I know," Mildgyd whispered. "She shall be mourned. But had you not come, we would _all_ have suffered the same fate."

* * *

Eafrida's eyes stole frequently to the wagon, worrying for its contents. Baan's wounds were tended in transit by Eadgyd; the worst was a shallow belly wound that thankfully was not deep enough to spill his guts, but still managed to sever many muscles and require careful stitching. Eafrida was sent off with the children; her hands shook so terribly she could not hold the needle, and she wept so that she could not see in any case.

Apart from the many slashes he received about his torso, he was stabbed several times in the arms and legs, with one wound through his shoulder. Eafrida had sewn such wounds before; her brother was particularly good at getting in the way of an Orc sword. She was shocked at how difficult doing so for Baan seemed to be.

His words – _better this way_ – terrified her. Would he even allow himself to waken? She had heard of those who'd lost the will to live allowing themselves to die of even the most superficial wounds. She could not bear the thought of losing him now.

"How fare you?" Ebba asked as she angled her steps toward Eafrida. They were ranged behind the wagon fifty paces, keeping their eyes on the silvery ribbon of the Entwash to their south and the golden sward of the plains to the north. They frequently looked behind, hoping not to see the approach of any dark tide, be it in the sky or upon the earth.

"I shall be far more content when we stop for the night," Eafrida replied. Even as she watched, her eyes were able to discern movement in the wagon. Perhaps Baan was awake. She hoped Mildgyd would speak with him. The elder woman said as much when Baan was laid out next to her.

"Leave him to me," she'd said confidently when Eafrida voiced her concerns. Still, Eafrida worried that not even the wisdom of a widow would sway him from making _her_ one.

"I shall be glad when the war is over," Ebba said absently, her own eyes upon the wagon as well.

Eafrida looked at her and cautiously ventured, "We all will be glad."

"Such beasts as they will be put to the sword, I hope," Ebba snarled. "I am _glad_ they were all slain, but it is not enough. I will not sleep well until _all_ are removed from the waking world."

Alarmed, Eafrida tried to compose herself. "Ebba, please do not say such things of Baan. He did not..."

"I do not speak of _Baan_," she replied impatiently.

"But... I thought... you were looking at him when you said...," Eafrida began, and Ebba rolled her eyes.

"I am not looking at _him_, you silly goose," she snapped. "_Beneath_ the wagon. That is where... their remains are slung." Her voice broke and a shuddering sob came from her. Ebba shook her head. "I shall not readily go to Aldwulf's bed after... It was... a horror to behold." She looked sympathetically at Eafrida. "I know he is not one of them. I do not look at Baan and see the same creatures." Returning her gaze to the wagon, only this time looking at the Orc within, she said, "Perhaps he could not save little Theodhilde, but he saved my grandmama. He saved _all_ of us." She glanced at Eafrida and smiled. "With your help, of course."

"I was not much help," Eafrida confessed with embarrassment. "I saw Wilburh and..." Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried not to recall the damage done, or the careful way in which Sighard composed her arms and legs just so in the blanket before securing the woman's body in the sling. "I nearly gave in to despair, Ebba. Baan guessed how many came by their scents, and I just... I could not imagine how we two could possibly make a difference."

"How came you to be missed?" Ebba asked, and Eafrida flinched. She was loathe to reveal any of Baan's life, but sooner or later, all the clan would figure it out. Perhaps it was best to get it over with, inform their folk of the bare minimum required, before reaching the capital. Uncomfortable questions were bound to be asked by those remaining behind in Edoras; the entire clan needed to be behind Baan and without doubts as to his character.

"Baan... recalled himself," Eafrida said carefully. "His... memories returned."

"Did they? During the battle?" Ebba asked incredulously. "Why ever would that matter? Did he tell you of them?"

Eafrida grimaced. "Yes. But I shan't tell you any more of it. They are his burden to bear. Suffice to say, he was... stricken, and fled. I followed him."

"_That_ is not very satisfying," Ebba retorted, and for a moment Eafrida almost laughed; in spite of all that had happened, it seemed Ebba could not be turned from her own true self. "Why will you not tell...?"

"Because his past is past," Eafrida said sternly. "He is no longer that Orc. Nor should he be forever apologizing for what he was. That Orc... is long dead."

Ebba shook her head in wonder. "Well, I suppose you are right. I do not think I could have agreed with you until these last few days. He is... most certainly... not like those Orcs."

"No, he is not," Eafrida said firmly.

Taking a long look at Eafrida, Ebba found herself smiling. "I am not surprised you followed. It is clear upon your face. You love him."

Eafrida sighed. There was, apparently, no hiding it. "I do indeed."

"Good," Ebba said. "I think... he deserves to be loved. He certainly adores you. In all my days, I have not seen a man look so completely, hopelessly, and unabashedly in love with a woman. Not even my cousin, Deorwine." She glanced at Eafrida's surprised face. "I am sure you noticed. That young man has such a smitten pup look about him; it is quite revolting."

Eafrida burst out laughing, her heart lightening and burdens seeming to lift with the absurdity of Ebba's assessment. Then she gradually sobered and looked worriedly at Ebba. "Do you think he will be angry with me? For my choice?"

Ebba narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "I think Deorwine will be confused. He _is_ infatuated with you, but I think... that is all it is. Such feelings are fleeting and will likely pass." Then she snickered. "Do not be surprised if he becomes just as entranced by a woman of Gondor when he is welcomed by their grateful folk! Or even better, by one of their merciful healers tending his wounds so bravely received in defense of her countrymen." She clasped her hands to her heart and batted her eyelashes, but whether in imitation of the healer or her cousin wasn't clear. Either way, Eafrida laughed all the harder.

"Oh, Ebba, you are scandalous," Eafrida wheezed, gasping for breath. There had been so little opportunity for mirth... so little desire for it... "How you can smile..."

"It is not easy," Ebba said quietly, her amusement fading. "We will mourn; Hengist's family will mourn. But those of us who lived through it... must continue to live, mustn't we?"

Eafrida nodded soberly. "I only hope Baan is in agreement. I would be... very cross with him... if he chose _not_ to."


End file.
